To Spy Or Not To Spy
by DiVaGiRl13
Summary: AU: "It's true, I went through girls fast. Faster than Grant does sports cars and faster than McHenry does shoes. But I don't do it for the reason you may be thinking of," -ZG "Nominated in the GGFF 2010 Awards"
1. Missions

Disclaimer: I don't own the Gallagher Girls

Hi! I'm ~diva~ This is _only_ my second fanfic so please be **polite**, I love constructive criticism-please express it kindly and **no flames **please (:

For all of those who've read my story What Happens When You Fall Hard this is in _**no way relates**_ to it, it is a completely different story and plot line. I may refer to some OC's that were in WHWYFH but other than that, **nothing's the same**

**Hope You Like It~**

Summary: When you think of Zach Goode, you'd think of the following: Handsome, Clever, Witty, Cocky, and the top Blackthorne Boy, right? Yes you're right, he _is _all those things. But what about a 19 year-old Zach Goode who just claimed his rightful place in the CIA. What about a Zach Goode who was exiled from his very own family? What about a Zach Goode that's heard of The Gallagher Academy For Exceptional Young Women but never of a certain Chameleon. So…What do you have then?

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**Chapter One: Missions**

"_One simple decision changed a lot, leading to another more important decision I had to make and even then it leads to something else. But what I really want to know is whether if I liked that change. I still don't know." - Zachary Goode_

Location: Office Room 127, CIA Base 11

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 3:42 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

Paperwork-I've always hated it and probably will until the day I die. I still couldn't see how Jonas could put up with it.

Don't get me wrong, paperwork has its advantages in its own way. You can't die from it [unless it's from boredom] the worst you could get would be a paper cut from a report. But field work was another story.

I've only been on four missions in my new career, and it wasn't anything major, they were all just Level D and E missions.

We have a simple system that categorizes the assignments agents are given. There were six different levels of missions. _A_, **B**, C, _D_, **E**, and the most dangerous: _**Black Out**_.

All the vital and most serious missions that included going to a different country were classified as Level A or Black Out.

Ones that were quite difficult and usually included some assistants from the NSA to help and were in the U.S. were Level B or C.

Ones that are so simple that a _cop _could figure it were Level D and E.

I longed for the adrenaline rush of a mission, but of course, being a 19-year old newbie didn't help my chances of being chosen for an assignment.

Unlike the older pro agents, unlike someone that's named Abigail Cameron. The green-eyed, brunette was being flung from country to country to disable a bomb or something of that nature.

Though rumor had it that the _only_ reason she even accepted those Level A's was because of something troubling that concerned her family. That's possibly the only similarity between us, we both had family issues.

Both my mom and dad had went MIA when I was nine, of course being the oblivious kid I was, I still had hope that they were still alive. Yeah, right. Their bodies and whereabouts were still unknown _to me_.

They were CIA agents too, I wasn't allowed to know what happened to them since I didn't have much clearance. A reason why I was here today, to find out what sent them off to their deaths.

I was shipped off to one relative to another after news had spread about the missing couple of Brian and Amy Goode.

I couldn't remember _one _relative that kept me for more than two months before I was taken in by a busy but generous agent that worked with my parents a lot. But it wasn't long before he went MIA also. His name still escapes my mind now but I remember of being close to him.

It was like a tragic tale of Romeo and Juliet but except in this story, Romeo knocks up Juliet with a son and their deaths are a little later in the play. Yeah, _so romantic. _

Maybe it was the fact that both sides of my family were opposed to my father and my mother marrying and I was the result of something they hated so much.

Maybe it was the fact I had such a bad attitude and got in so much trouble that they didn't want me in their lives.

Maybe it was the fact that I was so distant and icy to everyone that tried to help me.

There were a lot of reasons why they didn't want me in their lives, but I can't muster up enough interest to care. The past is the past, and I'm only stepping forward, or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

"Zach, get out here," a British accented voice calls, a barrage of a fist hitting my office door follows.

I look up from the stack of papers on my gray-metal desk. And at the rock hard door across the beige colored tiles. It opens to show Bex Baxter-the girlfriend of my best friend.

"What do you want Baxter?" I question the brunette in front of me, annoyed already. She just simply crosses her arms in front of her pneumatic chest and cocks a thin eyebrow at me.

"What's got your Alans in a bunch?" she quips.

"Alans?" I ask, but change my mind. _Why should I even bother learning British slang anyways?_ I think, "Whatever, why are you here?"

She smiles, but I could see that it was a bit sour.

"Director Jordan wants to see you. ASAP," she says.

The bitter smile still on her exotic face, I feel a smirk pull at my lips. My green eyes met her milky caramel ones.

"A mission? I knew I'd get one soon," I boast, the result of that was having the Briton narrowing her eyes at me.

"Don't get cocky, Goode. There's no guarantee that Mr. Anthony wants to see you for a mission. Now get off your lazy ass and get to his office before I bloody kick it," Bex threatens.

Her hands brought together to crack her knuckles.

"_Ah…_you're no fun, Rebecca. And don't be jealous that I get the mission before you, it was to be expected," I mock, using her full name; which was a bad idea because a fist immediately flew and almost hit my face. Almost.

I slip out from the side before she could get another shot. And with an exasperated Londonite in my office, I quickly made my way towards Director Anthony M. Jordan and possibly a new mission.

Location: Director's Office, CIA Base 11

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 4:01 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Hello, Mr. Goode." Mr. Jordan greets.

He was a tall man with brunette hair that held slivers of silver in it, he has hazel eyes that pulled between brown and green and had a healthy tan. And with his gray suit it definitely fulfills the _I'm-your-boss_ look.

"Hello, sir." I reply as I sat down in the chair in front of his desk.

His office was definitely larger than mine. The big windows were shaded, letting patterned lines of light to show on the floor.

"Mr. Goode, I am one who gets to the point of things. And I'd like you to go on a Level-B mission," after hearing that the room falls into silence.

Different thoughts were racing in my head. Level B. _A Level _B _mission._ _I could get so many clearance points for just that mission, _I think. _I could get a Level 6 clearance._ An annoying whisper chills my thoughts though, _You'll need a Level 9 to even know what the _name_ of the mission was._

An image of my mother and father grazes through my head, the answer of what really happened to them would be closer. And then eventually solved. One of the main reasons I even choice the CIA was to do that.

"You know, Mr. Goode if you wish not to get involved with this mission-" he starts, but I don't let him finish.

"No, sir. I accept the assignment," I declare strongly, there was a hint of a smile on his face as he nods.

The Director holds up a manila folder I hadn't realized he'd been gripping and slides it across the desk to me. My hand reaches out automatically and took the file of information.

"Very well then, assuming that it's you, Mr. Goode I don't believe I must go over most of the material with you," Director Jordan says. I met his gaze and gave a lopsided smile. He continued though,

"In this mission though, I have to tell you that you have many different options to choose from. When you read the file, you'll understand. But you must inform me of those decisions before you make them. Is that understood?" he instructs. I nod solemnly.

"Thank you, sir." He nods and motions towards the door with his hand, a sign clearer than glass that screamed, "get out."

With the manila folder clutched in my hand, I stalked out of the room quickly towards my office. My eys shining and a strange edge to my steps.

Location: Room 257, Freeman Apartments

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 7:38 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

Aliases, pseudonyms, fake ID's, covers-legends in general. That's what I was memorizing at the moment.

When the Director said I had options, he definitely meant it. I had the choices of names, location of where I could be stationed, and the personality of my cover and even a bit of my legend's past.

I let out a tired sigh and run my hand through my hair, making it even more ruffled than it had been before.

My white dress shirt wasn't even buttoned anymore; showing a muscle-tight white wife-beater, with my red tie hanging undone and careless around my neck. I stretch out my muscular arms and lie down on my unmade bed. The second I would have been swept away into blissful sleep my phone rings.

"Hello?" I say. Before the person on the other end could answer I could already tell who it was. Grant. The background was filled with dance music and loud voices.

"What's up, man. I heard you got a mission," Grant replies, from as much as I could tell he probably was near the bar for too long. I smirk.

"Yeah, it's a B," I brag. There was a silence on the other end.

"Zach," his voice suddenly sober and serious, "Be careful,"

"I know what I'm doing, Grant," I reassure him, but that nagging voice in the back of my head brings forth dark shadows of doubt. Looking for a desperate attempt to get off the topic I ask where he was.

"_The Rebellion _you know that place down from _Starbucks_?" he informs me. I didn't need to be standing next to him to know that he was grinning like mad, that was his favorite night club.

"Yeah, I know. You never shut up about it. Man, how drunk are you? You're gonna get beaten shitless by Bex when she-" but my warning is cut off from a distinct British voice.

"Shut it, Goode! And don't you dare give me that bloody smirk over the phone," I laugh at her outburst, the smirk still on my face. The volume of the music had gone even louder, the vibrations of it coming out of my phone and in my ear.

"Hey Zach! You know you can come over here for a bit, like a good luck party before you go," Grant shouts over the pulsing of the dance music. But an afterthought seems to hit him, "Oh. Maybe you shouldn't, there are like nine of your ex's here," he said. And I knew that he wasn't exaggerating.

I thought about that. Yeah, it's true I went through a lot of girls, a lot of girls _fast._ Faster than Grant and his sports cars and more than Macey goes shopping. But not for the reason you may be thinking-the perverted reason.

I guess the pathetic way of putting it is, that I just want a girlfriend, that too hard to comprehend? I mean when your best friends are all couples, you'd feel a little bit left out. Especially if they all simultaneously start making out.

When we first met the girls, the chemistry hit almost instantly. Shy, smart, and pixie-like Liz Sutton had gotten Smart, care-free and lanky Jonas.

Then of course, being the "Myth" couple, the Egyptian Goddess Bex started on the Greek God Grant. So leaving only Macey and I left, we tried going out. We crashed and burned before the salad had even arrived [the girl only eats _800 _calories a day for god's sake!]-and that's putting it lightly.

* * *

Things That Macey "The Peacock" McHenry and Zachary "The Shadow" Goode Hated About Each Other

- A List Made by: Zachary Goode -

1. Macey McHenry thinks that I am too mysterious and complicated to figure out .

2. I think that Macey McHenry complains too much.

3. Macey McHenry thinks that my smirk was far too annoying.

4. I think that Macey's _personality _was far too annoying.

5. Macey McHenry thinks that I dressed too casual to match the restaurant's status.

6. I think that Macey McHenry was too prepped-up.

7. Macey McHenry barely ate from her dinner [again, _800 calories per day_]

8. I love a girl that's not afraid to show her appetite.

9. Macey McHenry thinks of me as a nice friend.

10. The feeling was mutual.

…Really the list was endless.

* * *

"Zach? You still there?" I broke out of my thoughts and felt my automatic walls go back up again.

"I'll be there," I say simply.

"You sure? You know, if you really don't want to, you don't have to." he said. I nod when I realize that he couldn't see me.

"I'll be there" I repeat. And with the conversation ended, I grab a white button up shirt with a black shirt that showed off my rock hard chest and abs, leaving the buttons undone. My long legs are covered with dark denim jeans that hang loosely around my hips. I run a comb through my dark messy hair but give up almost immediately on it, leaving it wavy and disheveled.

As I start my black Viper all I think is, _what's the worst that can come from a few shots in a club?_

I should've never asked.

"_The beginning's harsh but don't be a bloody wimp and get through,"_

_- Rebecca Baxter_

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Keep or Delete? Because I'm not gonna continue this if I don't get reviews.

Yeah, it's boring I know -_- but I promise that it'll get exciting~

Yeah, I made it that Zach and Macey dated

**Favorite Line/Part?**

Nope, he's never met Cammie.

Yep, the name of the club was lame. **IF YOU HAVE ANY SUGGESTIONS FOR THE CLUB'S NAME SAY SO IN YOUR REVIEW PLEASE! YOU WILL GET CREDIT~!**

For those of you who read What Happens When You Fall Hard. Yeah, I put Dana's dad in here, I just thought I'd show you what Anthony was like.

No flames, constructive criticism deserves a round of applause, and questions are welcome if you're confused.

Please Review or I won't know if you want me to continue this or not~

ALL REVIEWERS GET A SNEAK PEAK!

~A Lazy Diva~


	2. Clubbing

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot, characters belongs to Ally Carter, I don't' own 40/40 either

Hey! **Thanks you guys!** I really didn't think that the story idea would work, but the reviews made me feel better about it! (: _I'm going to try to keep my A/N's short_, so I just hope you all know how much I appreciate all your reviews, _favorites_, **alerts**, everything! (: So sorry for the long wait. No time. School -_-

***IMPORTANT***: The _**NEW**_ name of the club is officially the **40/40 Night Club**, Credits go to: **CRAZYKID2655** - thank you!!! (:

**Thank you **all for your reviews, alerts, and favorites~ You guys are just awesome! And I don't think I can express how thankful I am to all of you, I mean **WOW!** That was a lot of reviews! (: So all I can do is give you this chapter~

I'd like to dedicate the first and second chapter of this to: **Gallagher Rose:** Thanks for setting a great example for me to write like I do now, you set the bar at a high standard and your writing is just brilliant. It was thanks to you that I even made this, so THANK YOU! (:

**Hope You All Like It~**

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Summary of the Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

A glimpse of **Z**_a_ch **G**_oo_de revealed a lot of things. Things like the fact that when his parents went **MIA** that he was tossed from reluctant relative to relative. Until an agent graciously takes Zach in but as if fate wasn't done messing with his life. _That agent had gone MIA too. _

So now back in the present, Zach is _19_ and a CIA agent. He's given a chance to prove himself and to get the **clearance level **that he deserves. But of course, to even know the _name_ of the mission that led to his parent's death would require a **Level 9 clearance**.

He not only wants it but _needs_ the Level B mission. But there was that possibility of MIA, that is, if the trip to **Club 40/40**didn't get him first.

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M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:

_**Black Out**_ - most clandestine, most lethal, most serious, time span: as much as necessary

_Level A - _threatening, dangerous, highly classified, time span: as much as necessary

**Level B **- NSA partnership [occasionally], secretive, American Civilian-interaction, time span: at least a month

Level C - Average, time span: approximately a week

_Level D _- crime scenes, investigations in Maryland, time span: a few days

**Level E **- crime scenes, investigations in Washington D.C., time span: a few hours

* * *

**Chapter Two: Clubbing**

"_Don't erase the mistakes, look over 'em and learn. 'Cause chances are, if you erase 'em, you'll do those same mistakes again," - Elizabeth Sutton_

Location: Zach Goode's Viper

Highway in Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 8:48 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

The roads in D.C. are never clear, that's what I've learned after moving away from Belfast, Maine. That's what thought about as I await for the Hondas, Toyotas, and Chevys to move out of the way. Dark clouds hover over my Viper, it's gonna rain.

R&B songs flowed out of the radio but seconds later a sound that I'm pretty sure wasn't part of _Because of You by Ne-Yo _pierced the air. My phone.

"Hello," I say, not paying much attention until I heard the deep voice on the other end.

"Mr. Goode," Director Anthony greets. I blink out of shock.

"Yes, sir. Is there a problem?" I ask, masking my voice to sound professional, as if I wasn't stuck in traffic listening to Ne-Yo and as if I wasn't heading off to hang with my drunk friend at a night club.

"It could be a problem, it all depends on your situation," I listened intently on what he just said. I don't interrupt, prompting him to continued, "Your mission has been rescheduled,"

The cars begin to nudge forward as I say back, "How long will it be until I get my assignment?"

There's a silence on the other side of the line, I hear the slight shuffling of papers.

"The real question is, how _soon _will your mission come," he informs.

I fall into a more dazed state. I just keep my eyes trained on the silver Acura with tinted windows, its license plate reading AMD 147, though my gaze is on it, I wasn't seeing it.

"And the answer to that is, what?" I ask coolly.

"Monday. Monday morning to be exact, I need you to report to Base 11 by 10:25 with all your packed necessities. And I assume that you understand your cover's personality enough to know their taste for clothing," I file as much information as I can inside my mind.

"Yes, sir." there's another pause that stretched longer than it was meant to. _Say something _are the words that want to escape my mouth but I restrain it.

"Good luck, Zach." and with that, a click ended our conversation.

The words feel empty and hollow to me.

_Am I _really _happy about going on a dangerous mission?_ My eyes meet the road again to see it running swiftly.

The silver Acura I noticed from before takes a right, heading towards the _Starbucks _down the street while I turn left towards the _40/40 Night Club_.

With the burden of the mission lifted off my shoulders I step out of my Viper and into the worry-free paradise.

Location: _40/40 Night Club_

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 9:48 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Finally, you're here!" it was amazing that I could even hear those words over the Rihanna song that was on full volume.

As the door opens the lighting changes immediately. Instead of the florescent light that shined, I was surrounded by the dark while bright flashes of gold, green, orange, blue, and magenta scatters around the room. The lightshow changing every few seconds.

People in tight clothes and prepped up hair are dancing to the strong beat that pulses out of the stereos.

Somewhere in that crowd I spot a mop of wheat-brown hair and blue eyes, and at his side was his British girlfriend. They were both sitting on stools near the bar so I make my way there.

"Hey man," I greet, my hand automatically out to grab his in our handshake.

My eyes meet his face and I see that he's already drunk, which shocks me for a second. He's usually good at staying sober.

His face is pink from under the natural tan and his eyes are lightly tinged with red, not only that, his breath carries the vodka that he probably was drinking.

I take a good look at Bex in the colorful lighting and it was enough to see that she was drunk too.

Her laughs were lighter and more…_bubbly _than usual, I knew that if I was stuck hearing that for the rest of the night my ears would be bleeding.

"How many shots did you have?" I ask, a smirk on my face. They both answer me with eruptions of hard laughter.

The good thing about a club is that everyone's too busy to notice other people's embarrassing moments. After the alcohol scented guffaws were over Grant manages to say uneasily,

"Four, just four--" but the British and now _drunk _accent interrupts with her perky giggles.

"Teen. Fourteen!" I feel the corners of my mouth gain altitude and I half-smile at the intoxicated couple in front of me.

"Fine it's fourteen! Are you happy now, Bexy?" Grant slurs. His was voice joining the different words of his sentence.

Bex squeals---yeah, _squeals._ Her unfocused, caramel eyes look up at Grant's face and her manicured hands are stretched out, catching Grant and pulling him down in a hungry kiss.

I'm not flinching away, I've been in more…_intense _and…_heated _moments than the one that was opening up in front of me.

I've been in this situation with more girls, thanks to my speed dating. My speed dating got me dubbed _The Ladies' Man_ of the CIA.

But I don't ask them out just for _that _reason.

I'm just picky about my girl, it's like picking employees for a job, do you really think that I'd hire a girl that didn't know math for a cashier's job? So why should I settle with a girl that doesn't suit me.

But I really _do _want a long-term relationship. Something that's never really happened to me.

I think the longest relationship I've been in would be about 3 weeks and 6 days, with Anna Fetterman [she may seem quiet but trust me, when in _different_situations she's pretty damn loud].

I zone out of my thoughts when I hear a deep groan, until this moment I realize that I've been staring off at the green-tinted spotlight. My gaze goes to the make-out session that included two of my best friends.

I knew it was my cue to leave the scene when I see Bex starting to grind on Grant while his hands were busy groping at her butt and thighs. Not only that, they're both moaning.

I back away quickly through the crowd of dancers, I take one look back at the bar to see that a disheveled Bex was pulling a strangely _alert _Grant somewhere. _Wasn't he drunk a second ago, _I notice, amused.

My eyes trail towards their destination…a janitor's closet--such a classic. As if feeling my gaze on him, his eyes meet mine and he gives a small smirk of his own as Bex drags him away.

A mischievous glint in his eyes tells me that he isn't drunk at all. A laugh escapes my mouth. Bex isn't one who gets drunk _before _her date.

_But with Grant's talent for staying sober and his great acting_…I shake my head disbelievingly at my best friend's game.

As I dance my way towards the more private bar in the back I think about what Grant had just done there.

"How may I help you?" the redheaded bartender purrs. Her smile is flirtatious with her eyes lowered for that seductive affect. From how she said it, I knew there was a double meaning.

I smirk and I order my drink. As the bartender named Kaitlyn got my order ready I knew that somewhere across the room Grant was getting laid.

_You are one sneaky 'lil bastard, Newman._

Location: _40/40 Night Club_

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 10:29 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Zach? Zach Goode?" a voice asks. A high-pitched and impatient voice that was too damn familiar.

I turn around in my stool, drink in hand. The things I first notice are shiny brunette hair, long toned legs, and tall, black stiletto heels.

_I knew this would happen, _I think, taking another shot of liquor. The drink fizzes down my throat and throws my mind into a familiar haze, the buzzing going straight to my head.

And it's true, what Grant said about _nine _of my ex-girlfriends being here, I knew the odds of running into one of them were pretty high.

_But did it have to be Jessica Boden?_

* * *

The Reasons Why Jessica "The Charmer" Boden Was One of the Worst Girlfriends Ever

- A List Made by: Zachary Goode -

1. Jessica Boden is a spoiled brat [this was found out _after _the first date]

2. Jessica Boden has a bitchy personality [this statement was approved by both Duchess and Peacock]

3. Jessica Boden is known as a "manipulator"

4. Jessica Boden is unfaithful [apparently she as a tendency to have about three boyfriends at a time]

5. Jessica Boden is a whiner [that's an understatement]

6. Jessica Boden is a complete flirt and slut [I admit that _half _of that statement I kinda liked when we were dating, you can take a guess at _which_ half]

The Reasons Why Zachary "The Shadow" Goode Dated Jessica "The Charmer" Boden

- A List Made by: Zachary Goode -

1. Jessica Boden is extremely hot despite her rotten attitude

* * *

"Oh it _is_ you! It's been a while," She gushes enthusiastically.

The pounding of my head synchronized with the pulsing of the music. I run my hand through my dark hair, the strands falling over my forehead.

Jessica and her black, spiked heels clack their way over to me and with the dim lighting of the bar behind me I finally take in her clothes [or maybe _lack of clothes _would be a better phrase].

_Definitely for clubbing, _I think in a daze. My eyes graze over the tight, low-cut and strapless shirt Boden was modeling for me, her curves showing along with a flat stomach.

The red of the shirt makes a deep contrast against the black skirt that couldn't even be called a skirt anymore. My gaze stays at a few places a bit too long before Jessica notices me eyeing her.

I didn't--no, _couldn't _concentrate long enough to realize that she about three inches away from me now. A slow and flirtatious smile pulls at her ruby red lips as she leans and hovers over me.

I'm still seated in the stool as both of her French tipped hands lean on the counter behind me. I try keeping my eyes on her face but they always seem to stray south to her almost bare chest.

"Do you see something you like?" she leers.

_This alcohol's _really _getting to me, _I think. But it was too late for that.

"Maybe," I whisper huskily, my left arm that wasn't holding the drink wrapped around her slim waist. "Why don't you show me?"

Location: _40/40 Night Club_

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Saturday, July 13th Time: 11:24 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

_Maybe I should stop drinking, _I muse.

My eyes crack open just enough to see where the hell I was. I don't see any florescent lights or any of the colored spotlights.

I'm completely in the dark but it didn't take a CIA agent to know that I was in a small room---a closet. It was then I realized what I was probably doing for God knows how long.

My arms aren't at my sides, they're wrapped around someone. It takes me a full minute to identify the foreign object in my mouth was a thrashing tongue, while mine's in someone else's mouth.

It feels strange, it feels like I'm not in control of my body. A familiar and hard feeling burns through me and I groan, a moan mirrors my response. From instinct, I press the girl I was making out with into the wall, grinding hard into her as she moans out in delight.

I'm about to squeeze my eyes shut and revel in the heated pleasure but the clicking of a door opening keeps me from that.

"Whoa! Uh, sorry man! I didn't mean to--" the unfinished apology was cut short, "Hold up! Jessica--" an exasperation spears through me and I spin around to face the person who interrupted. _It was just getting good._

"Mind leaving?" I spit out. The guy standing in the doorway was about the same height as me, the colored lights of the dance floor glows behind him, leaving only a silhouetted outline of him.

"Nah, how 'bout we do this," a hand grabs the front of my black undershirt.

I was face-to-face to him now. I see the details I didn't see before, he had a mix of blue and green for eyes with hair that resembled old gold.

"Why don't you leave before I beat the living shit outta you for fucking _my_ girlfriend!" he snarls in my face.

I let out a mocking laugh, "You call _that _fucking? You shoulda waited three minutes I woulda shown you what it _really _looks like," a smirk appears on my flushed face, the buzzing of the liquor from earlier urging my actions.

"You son of a bitch!" His other free hand had curled into a fist while we were conversing. In a second it was being aimed for my face.

The electric fog in my head didn't mask the fact that this guy was a civilian. A Blackthorne freshman would have given a better punch than that.

I easily dodge by sidestepping, I swing back my leg for a roundhouse kick but quickly change it so it was a regular kick to the stomach. I can't blow my cover to a civilian.

I smirk and turn around to where Jessica is, but the scantily-clad brunette was gone. I shrug it off.

_Her loss, _I think dazedly before getting slammed into the hard floor of the club. I roll over to see that the blonde boyfriend was straddling me, I only notice the crowd gathering around us when I punch the guy in his left eye.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" someone starts, the small crowd slowly follows his lead and loud chanting fills the dance floor over the pop song that was playing.

He was off of me but he got up immediately and his foot went flying in my direction. I try dodging but it still skims my arm.

_What the hell? _I think to myself. It's probably the light but as another fist comes at me, I can swear that I see two of them.

Blondie's jab skims my shoulder and forgetting all of my specialized training I go with my street fighting. I nail him with my knee, right in the balls.

An echo of sympathetic _Oh's _ripple through the crowd as Blondie drops to the ground in pain.

There are cheers through the group of dancers and other clubbers but I barely hear them, my balance is off as I sway from foot to foot for support.

My eyelids become strangley heavy as my vision blurs, I remember seeing the black suit of a what?…A manager? No. Security guard?

I remembered the buzzing in my ear, mumbling that could've possibly been shouting. That's all I can remembered before feeling a large, muscular hand gripping my bicep and being towed away to who knows where.

*** * ***

A loud and gruff "Get outta here!" is amplified right into my right ear as I'm being pushed out of a door. My lack of balance gets the better of me and the next thing I know, my dark jeans get dusty from the pavement and my calloused hands are scratched up from the sharp pebbles on the ground.

Another gruff comment is made before I hear metal clinking on metal. I don't pay any attention to his insult or threat or whatever the hell it was, the _"Get outta here_" rattles around in my liquor misted mind. Reeling back a memory that I wish to keep dead and buried.

-

"_Zachary!" Aunt Maggie's shrill voice shrieked. Her hazel-green eyes were looking at me disapprovingly, her hands sassily sat on her hips. Uncle Ethan stood beside her, face serious._

"_Yes, Aunt Maggie?" I asked, my voice sounding innocent, sounding like the 10 year old I was._

"_Zachary," Aunt Maggie said, her voice tired, "You can't keep doing all of this," her eyes left mine for a second to look at the broken pieces to the flat screen TV I had broken._

"_We needed a new one anways," I replied, I was looking at the pieces of metal without regret. That seemed to be the last straw for Uncle Ethan. _

"_Zachary Goode! Go up to your room! You're grounded!" he commanded, but it was the last straw for me as well. _

_I curled my hands into tight fists and fought back the heated, watery sensation that were burning behind my eyes--making them look glassy. _

"_You can't tell me what to do! You're not my real parents! For all I know _you two_ could've been the reason they died! You hated them! You hated your own sister!" I shouted, the last part directed at Uncle Ethan. _

_I waited for them to say something, for them to argue with me, for them to patronize me--someone they wanted to die but was responsible for._

"_Zachary--" Aunt Maggie started but I wasn't done._

"_And you hate me, because mom and dad ranaway and had me!" I yelled out, tears were spilling over but I could've cared less._

"_Zach--" she bent down on her knee to look into my watering eyes. Her hands were on my shoulders, her eyes were carefully guarded, but I wasn't fooled. _

_I inherited genes from my dad, I could see a mask when it's there, and Aunt Maggie's mask might as well have been pure glass. _

_With a violent thrash I slap her in the face, she backed up--her hand on her now red cheek as I grabbed a sharp piece from the TV and slashed blindly at her. _

_I hear a cry of pain and felt a hit to my face, so much force was used that I was smacked into the wall. Uncle Ethan had hit me--from that point on, he wasn't an uncle. My cheek throbbed as fresh tears came._

"_You ungrateful little--you're lucky that any one of us took custody of you!" Ethan roared, his light brown eyes were burning with an angry fire. _

"_If you don't like it here, then go! I never want to see you ever again! Get outta here!"_

_-_

Nausea hits me before the rest of the memory could play in my mind. My stomach churns and churns and I feel it creep up my throat and there under the partly cut moon and dark clouds I released my dinner onto the rough pavement.

I'm breathing deeply, my head turned away from the pile of digusted food I just relinquished. I note that I'm sweating, the temperature was nice and chilling but to me I would have guessed there was an active volcano nearby.

I move away from the spot I was just in, I'm then standing by the door I was kicked out of. But the strong muscles in my legs felt like it just turned into string and I collapse involuntarily.

My back presses against the rocky bricks of the building wall, I'm sliding down slowly until I'm finally slouched over in a sitting position. I could feel the energy draining right out of me as my limbs didn't want to respond to my drunken brain anymore.

A small groan escapes my parted lips, my eyes are shut. Then a cooling sensation hits me. Rain. I don't dare open my eyes as more droplets of water land on me.

I don't know how long it had been since all this happened. But my mind is spiraling, nothing was being safely filed like it would be--like it _should _be.

The rain was pouring down now, the pattering hit everything around me hard. I hear a wet _swoosh _of what I assume is a car gliding in murky puddles of water.

But somewhere through the pattering water I hear clacking. It pulls at something in my mind. _Clacking. What clacks? _

An image of Jessica takes up room in my mind. Her black stilettos. I vaguely notice that my dark hair is soaked, but the cold of it felt good on my scorching skin.

Suddenly, I don't feel the rain hitting me anymore, yet I still hear the wet _swooshing _of the cars and puddles, I still hear the droplets hitting the pavement, what I didn't hear was the clacking.

It was at that point that I couldn't take anymore notes, and I wished that my eyelids weren't heavy for at least a second. But things, like the rest of the night, weren't working out for me--I drifted off.

"_Girls are like shoes, the less popular ones are sometimes the most comfortable while the beautiful heels give you the broken ankle--but 'they're so pretty!' you think, but are those heels going to help you run a mile in a secret passageway? I didn't think so." _

_- Cameron Morgan_

* * *

Hm -_- not as good as I was hoping but oh well…

Okay. Well Zach isn't usually a manwh*re like this, but he was drunk with a slutty girl next to him at the time. Reason: HE. IS. A. GUY. Enough said.

Sorry. I really don't know how to write like a drunk person -_-" But anyways…

Favorite Part/Line? Do you like the little quotes at the beginning and end of a chapter?

Oh, well please review! If you review I'll start writing the next chapter!

The first S I X reviewers will get the preview!

~A Studying Diva~


	3. Covers

**Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns everything!**

I am ashamed that I haven't updated at all during spring break. Don't worry, I won't bother you guys with my excuses (mostly 'cause some are just real personal…). Hope you guys enjoy this ((:

Nice to know you guys like the quotes, I'll be keeping them then. Oh! And a reviewer asked if these quotes are legit from the book. Nope. I made them up. I just try to think of something that might fit the character's thinking (sorry if it doesn't work).

Anyways. THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH for the awesome reviews, alerts and favorites ((: It makes me feel great and stops any thoughts of me giving up on writing ((: So thank you. Here is your chapter~

* * *

Summary of the Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

Nothing was ever truly normal in Zach's life, his first top ranking mission wasn't either. It was moved, it was scheduled even sooner than Zach thought. And _soon _was exactly two days away. He was happy about that, right? Shouldn't he? Or was it too much pressure and he had to go to a club to relax? But he go a little carried away.

"Carried away" consisted of getting drunk, hooking up with Jessica Boden and getting into a fight with one of her boyfriends, oh. And also getting thrown out of the club. Right before passing out, he heard someone coming towards him.

Whoever they were, they wore heels and apparently had an umbrella. It could have been help, but what kind of help comes around at midnight?

* * *

M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:

_**Black Out **_- most clandestine, most lethal, most serious, time span: as much as necessary

_Level A _- threatening, dangerous, highly classified, time span: as much as necessary

**Level B **- NSA partnership [occasionally], secretive, American Civilian-interaction, time span: at least a month

Level C - Average, time span: approximately a week

_Level D _- crime scenes, investigations in Maryland, time span: a few days

**Level E **- crime scenes, investigations in Washington D.C., time span: a few hours

* * *

**Chapter Three: Covers**

_"Being different is nothing to be ashamed about_—_sometimes it's better than what's considered normal." - Anna Fetterman  
_

Location: Room 357, Laurent Apartment Building

Oxen Hill, Maryland

Date: Sunday, July 14th Time: 9:52 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

There are different and terrible ways of waking someone-who'd rather be asleep [like me]-up. A lot of things can that disrupt that blissful time where you can just rest.

1. Some are just light sleepers that wake up at anything other than silence.

2. Some hate the annoying alarm on their nightstand whining at them to awaken.

3. Some hate having their roommates screaming and shaking them to get out of bed.

Well I have something that tops that, how about springing out of bed and running to the closest bathroom so you can find to throw up in the toilet? Because that's how my Sunday morning starts.

I'm leaning over the marble-white toilet seat, hacking up all the shots of alcohol I had the previous night. It burns its way up my throat, when I'm done and pull on the silver trigger to flush, the aftertaste makes me want to start vomiting again.

Before the taste in my mouth could make its way to my stomach, I get to the sink to swish out the foul flavor. I spit the cold water out, disgusted with the aroma and that's when I catch myself in the mirror.

I didn't look half as bad as I felt. My dark hair styled itself into the "bed-head" look. My green eyes seems tired from behind my long dark eyelashes that annoy me to no end. With the black T-shirt that hugged my muscles, the dark denim jeans still hanging loosely around my hips.

My forehead is covered with a glistening layer of sweat and my arms feel weak as I made my way back to bed, my head hitting the soft pillow almost at once.

My head was pounding from the liquor that got into my bloodstream, my stomach struggling to keep down whatever was left in it. It was all this discomfort that didn't make me realize it sooner.

Gone was my white, bare ceiling with green walls. What replaced them is an unfamiliar beige ceiling with a fan dangling in the middle, a calm blue covered the walls-looking soothing. But nothing is soothing about the situation I'm in.

Especially when I hear a floorboard creek from behind me.

I whirl around, expecting to face an enemy agent or possibly some hooker that dragged me to her apartment [it happened to Tim Williams and Tina Walters was _not _happy about it]. But as I focus on the figure at the door, I can't tell if it's an enemy agent, but as far as I can tell-it's _definitely _not a hooker.

She had straight strands of light blonde and brown hair flowing past her shoulders, her bangs were swept to the side-lightly covering her forehead.

If I were to guess her age, I'd guess not much older than 18. From how she portrays herself I can tell that she probably kept active, but my eyes don't stay on her modest curves-they're trained directly in her eyes. The two words "Cat eyes" popped into my mind when I glanced up.

It's about then that I realize that she'd been staring at me too, by then I went on alert again.

"U-uh, are you okay, sir?" she murmurs.

The shyness in her eyes made me want to be gentle with her but the spy in my doesn't back down an inch-he backs down a centimeter and plays the clueless civilian.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." _Lie_. "But, uh mind explaining to me why I'm here?" I say casually.

The girl seems to relax a bit, her shoulders drooping down from their former tensed position. It's then that I see her holding a small metal tray with a mug sitting on top; small fumes of warmth radiating from the top.

"Well…it's a kinda a long story," she whispers. It's then that I realize that the reason she was so quiet was not to make my hangover worse-or I _assume_ that was the reason. I'm still tense but nod, the girl continues, "I'll tell you after you've eaten,"

"I'm not hungry," I lie smoothly, even though the thought of food makes my mouth water.

But of course, my stomach just has to disagree with my statement. It definitely wanted to make its presence known because the second I say my lie it whines at me to start eating. I shove my hands into my pockets but when I look back at the girl she isn't laughing or mocking me, she seems worried.

"Yeah, you are. Are you okay? You look pale," the girl notes. I just shake my head, my dark hair getting back in my eyes-I tried ignoring the dizziness I felt when I moved my head.

I hear the dirty-blonde sigh and the clink of metal. I look up to see that she set the mug down on the oak nightstand, the scent of delicious coffee finally hits me. My mouth starts to water more and my parched throat feels even drier than before.

"You be down in a bit, okay? Drink the coffee, it'll make you feel better," she advices kindly.

Her light emerald eyes meets mine for a second and she gives me a small smile that makes my stomach turn inside out. But I convince myself it was another weird side effect from the ridiculous hangover.

She makes her way towards the door but as she's about to walk down the steps I blurt out something that shocks me for a second.

"What's your name?" the green-eyed girl turns her head around to face me, another smile is on her face that makes my heart pick up its pace-the throbbing in my head synchronizing with it.

"Cammie. It's Cammie,"

Even with the fatigue that was affecting my body I automatically begin analyzing. _Cammie. _Unique, less common than Macey but not formal sounding like Elizabeth or Rebecca. _I kinda like it._ "And your name would be…?" Cammie prods me to continue. It rolls off my tongue before I could take it back.

"Zach," It came out immediately when she asked.

_It's the headache, _I tell myself-frustrated I let out even _some _of my personal information out. But Cammie's soft voice begins calming me down-it was like the soothing voice that a psychiatrist would use, slightly teetering between the border on annoying and patronizing.

"Well I hope you feel better, Zach. If you need to take a shower there's some clothes on the bed. See ya downstairs." she tells me, her voice still quiet and smooth.

I nod, she flashes a smile and the hangover flips my stomach once again. My eyes trail to the disorganized blankets and sheets of the bed.

A pale white cotton sleeve shirt and light wash jeans lay neatly folded at the very corner of the bed. The uneasiness in my stomach wasn't gone, but it's lightening up-my surroundings of the bedroom and the bathroom were familiar with me in a matter of seconds.

My hand is wrapped around the coffee mug, the cup still nicely warm. I know the sayings _"Listen to your body," _and _"Go with your gut," _but not everything applies to spies. The first quote could very well get your left arm amputated off [George in department 14 learned that the hard way] and the second could possibly kill you if done wrong.

Right at the moment I did want to listen to my thirsty body and grumbling stomach, but instinct took over and I walked into the bathroom. It doesn't matter whether the caffeine drink was a token of generosity or a way to annihilate me, it was already making its way down the sink drain.

But I admit, I couldn't help but give in a little. In my defense, after sweating in a club and throwing up in a stranger's bathroom you'd want to indulge yourself in a steamy shower, wouldn't you? I thought so.

"Do the clothes fit?" I tug a bit at the hem of the ivory shirt, giving a quick nod. But I immediately turn the questions onto her. The mist-filled shower helped clear my head of the throbbing headache.

"And exactly _why _do you have guy clothes?" innocent looking cat eyes look at me, her head tilts a bit to the side-as if wondering why I was even asking. I bite the inside of my cheek from smirking at her expression.

A pale pink crept from her collarbone up to her cheeks-obviously getting a different message from my question. But my ears and eyes are ready to evaluate her voice, her heart rate and any signs of pupil dilation.

_That's the only reason I'm staring at her eyes, _I think. I don't even know why I bothered reminding myself, but I don't dwell on that for long.

"Oh. They're my brother's. I think you guys are around the same age,"

Her voice is even and steady. It isn't stuck up or exasperatingly sarcastic like Macey's tone, or exotic and quick witted-sounding like Bex. It relates a bit more to Liz's shy voice but more outgoing. It was normal.

My eyes search hers, focusing on the black pupils instead of the tropical green irises. Nothing. The dirty blonde's breathing is still balanced and something else. I can't contemplate it, the right adjective was escaping the grips of my mind when she spoke again.

"Eat up," the word describing her voice was vaporized out of my brain and the next thing that registers in my mind is the fact that the girl placed down a plate of freshly made waffles. _Not the best waffles I've ever seen, _I think. It must've shown in my expression because she went defensive.

I hear her mumbling something that sounds like, "They aren't _that _bad," and for the first time since I've been here I laugh. But that afterthought in my mind doesn't disappear; making me laugh won't make me think she's any less of a threat. _But might as well enjoy it, right? _I smirk.

"Shut up and eat," Cammie murmurs, her voice tried to be harsh-it would've fooled me, if not for the light blush that lit her cheeks. The flushing girl stabbed a piece of the waffles [or what I _assumed _were waffles] and my smirk only grew more when she immediately snatched her glass of water; chugging the full glass down.

"Okay," she began slowly, "So I'm not the best cook," I let out another small chuckle and leaned back into the wooden chair directed across from her.

Cammie suddenly seemed completely absorbed in the tips of her hair as she played with a few strands. It wasn't anything flirtatious-I've seen enough to know when a girl wanted to flirt with me; she was doing it from either nervousness or embarrassment. And for some strange reason it only made me smirk more.

"So," she looks up, strands of her hair falling in her face, "Exactly how did you find me?" I knew that I could have fun, but I also knew I needed information. In almost an instant, she isn't nervous anymore.

_She's so simple to read, _I think, surprised, _her eyes say it all. _It's all in her eyes, they change different shades and hues so quickly. When she's nervous, they're lighter than usual. When she's serious, they're as dark as a healthy lawn.

"You were at that 40/40 club last night, right? 'Cause that's where I found you," she explains, "You were passed out," Cammie let out a small, shaky laugh out. "To be completely honest, I thought you were dead. I passed you in my car and I tried dragging you into it."

"And why were you driving around at midnight?" I interrupt.

"I forgot something at my job,"

She's telling the truth, but my mask doesn't waver at all. I raised an eyebrow at her, "You didn't call the hospital,"

"When I figured out you were just drunk, I kind of thought going to a hospital would be an overkill. The worse you could get was a bad hangover," her tone was telling me as if it were obvious to take in a complete drunk stranger in her home. I want to tell her how grateful I am for her generosity, but that's not what escapes my mouth.

"That's kind of stupid, you know?" Her eyes narrow into annoyed slits after they glowed with shock. "I mean, I could have been a murderer," Cammie's eyes go a shade of harlequin green as she seems to weigh my theory. It were at times like these that I was very appreciative for my silver tongue.

"But you aren't, are you?" her voice retorts, crossing her slim arms across her humble chest. I crack a small smile on my lightly chapped lips. Lying was something I was good at, not something that I was too proud of-sometimes. Fibbing to a young girl who shared her roof for a night didn't seem right to me. So I compromised.

"Sorry, I'm not a murderer," I grin, leaning back into the slightly creaking chair. "But I _am _a spy," Not a lie but not the full truth either; my favorite type fabricating.

The girl's staring at me with skeptical eyes, probably thinking that I needed to be sent to a mental hospital. "Are you sure didn't hit your head before you passed out?" I give a smirk at the disbelief in her voice. Cammie's eyes hold a shade chartreuse.

"You have no sense of humor, do you?" I tease, her eyes fled to another shade of green. Light emerald this time, it reminded me a bit of Mick Morrison's eyes, but it didn't have the strange knife-like glint (probably because Cammie doesn't usually think of killing someone 28 different ways with her hair tie like Morrison). But I then understood what it meant; annoyance, exasperation, irritation. My grin becomes larger.

"At least I don't think I'm some younger version of James Bond," I keep the smirk on my face as she got up to dump out her food. I took that second to take note of the small kitchen.

The floor is smooth and shiny wooden planks-it looks as if it were laminated. The table we were sitting at was a perfect circle and could probably only fit three people at it. The walls were a pale yellow-orange color while the rest of the equipment, like the sink, was made out of steel, decorated with mahogany cupboards. It was at that moment that I remembered that I was missing another vital piece of information.

"Where are we?" I ask, the dirty blonde twists around to look at me.

"We're in Oxen Hill-Laurent Apartment Building," I blink, not from where I am, but the name of the city. _Oxen Hill. _The memory replays in my mind, seeing the peach-yellow color of the manila folder as I opened it. The freshly printed paper covered in instructions, legends, covers and photos of different people.

A single sentence in that neat crowd of words and letters is almost highlighted in my mind. _"…inflicted locations and most possible station areas: Tampa, Florida, Phoenix, Arizona, Houston, Texas, Omaha, Nebraska, Manhattan, New York, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Oxen Hill, Maryland…"_

Director Jordon's voice booms in my brain, telling me about my different options of where I could be stationed; where I could investigate from. I thought back to my cover, holes of missing information I am suppose to fill. But my thoughts come to an abrupt stop.

"Oh _shit_!" I couldn't hide my surprise at this; hearing a cuss word coming from _her _is like hearing Kanye West singing country. It just doesn't match. Cammie looks like she could be the model for honor role students. _She probably _is _an honor student, _I muse.

"What?" I ask, more out of curiosity than concern.

The possibility that this girl was an enemy agent was beginning to wither away. I've seen enough civilians to know when to spot one. The girl-Cammie-is normal. But even though all those things are true my attention is still on the dirty blonde.

"I'm late for my job!" Cammie shouts frantically. By the time she said that she was already running down one of the halls as I watched her go.

I don't think being late for her job was something to panic about. Cammie is probably only 18; not even out of college yet. Being tardy to a part-time job isn't the end of the world. I want to laugh at what she'd be like if she had 30 seconds to disarm a bomb [which was one my senior year quizzes].

I see a familiar bronze and gold colored head pop out from the milk colored hallway; the long strands tied up messily. Hanging from her shoulder is a pearl and silver tinted purse and a dark green apron is wrapped around her athletic frame. Cammie's fingers were twirling a pair of car keys around; she was getting closer to the door.

"So," I drag the word out loudly, just enough for her to hear, "You're leaving a complete stranger in your apartment while you go off to work?" I ask, not able to keep the crooked grin out of my voice, "Smart choice," I add sarcastically. I turn back in my seat, ready to relax, but a hand grips my wrist and I'm being pulled up from the chair.

"Fine," Cammie says, her hold on my wrist shockingly firm, "Then, you're coming with me,"

The girl starts bounding for the elevator; dragging me with her and all the while I couldn't keep the amused grin off my face.

"You have a pretty strong grip for a girl," Light emerald eyes turn to glare at me and I can only smile innocently at her.

I'm dragged out of the elevator into a small lobby, I notice a few younger girls turn to stare at me. I let a charming smile grace my face and they immediately started giggling.

A man clothed in a doorman uniform pulls on the silver handle to let us out. The dark hat covers most of his face but I see extremely dark hair that looks as if it were obsidian.

"Thanks Jonathon!" Cammie calls happily to the man. Jonathon doesn't say anything but gives a nod, a small hint of a smile on his face. I guess someone could say he was _somewhat _handsome, but I don't pay much attention to him. He's older than both me and Cammie, maybe in his mid-thirties with dark blue eyes.

My first instinct is to roundhouse Jonathon. Something was completely off about him, I just couldn't place it. It was as if he was a huge field agent in a sea of smaller researchers in the R&D laboratory. The thought of knocking him unconscious with a Napotine patch crosses my mind, but it the idea leaves my head as I got to Cammie's car. A silver Acura, with the license plate reading AMD 147. _The car from before._

"Hurry up and get in the car," the girl beside me says, her hand releases my wrist, "And don't even think of driving," I only give her a lopsided grin as I got in. It was completely on impulse when I said,

"You're really bossy, you know?" her eyes are back to a fair emerald saturation. I already knew she was irritated without her sassy comeback.

"You're really annoying, you know?" I smile smugly at the girl as we flew down the streets.

"Oh, you know you love it," I say flirtatiously. I hear her scoff, but nothing else departs her soft looking lips. I feel myself grin. _One point for me. _

"Cameron!" a New York accent shouts, "You're late!" That's the first thing I hear when we stepped into the sweet scented Perkins. My eyes scan around the round tables and leather booths and see four customers and six bored employees. A total of ten people, and then including the angry manager would make it 11.

I start heading towards one of the empty side booths and a hear less-than-apologetic "Sorry," behind me. I didn't need to turn around to see Cammie say it, but I did anyway. An idea enters my mind and I smirk at the dirty blonde as she got a notepad out.

"Hey waitress!" I call, a crooked grin on my face. "I'm ready to order!"

The irritable light emeralds blaze from across the room and I only smile. She opens her mouth to shout back at me, but the familiar New York accent beats her to it.

"You heard the customer, get to it." Her lips shut and very slowly, very reluctantly she makes her way to me. Her eyes were still the light viridian as she glared at me. I could only laugh at her expression. It was kind of cute to see her mad, it was definitely fun to get the exasperated shade of her eyes.

"How may I help you, sir?" she recites through clenched teeth.

"You can help me by sitting down," Cammie's eyes widens; something between suspicion and shock glowed from her face. Before she could object I say, "Isn't it a policy that the customer's always right?" She seemed to deflate as she sighed and without a word she unwillingly slid into the opposite seat.

"What now, Zach?" her voice losing the formality. A small smirk tugged at the corner of my lips.

"I thought we could get to know each other," I say, keeping a straight face. Cammie's eyebrows shoot up to hide under her layered bangs. Skepticism radiated from her eyes.

"Uh, sure?" it came more as a question. I ignore the comment and started.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Red," she answered immediately.

"Favorite type of music?"

"R&B,"

"What's your favorite candy?"

"M&M's." I smile at the fact. Her replies were immediate. If she was a spy, she'd be very good with legends.

"Where do your parents live?" Silence. Cammie's eyes were on mine but they widened and fled my gaze. Her hands hold onto one another, her fingers playing together as her mouth opens, but no words or sounds escape. It feels like hours and the soft chatter floating around the restaurant seem to go dead. It could have been days before I heard her gentle voice speak again.

"My father lived in Washington D.C," it clicked. _Her dad's dead._ _If she's so sad about it now, he must have died recently, _I think somberly.

But in the back of my mind another voice that sounded eerily like mine whispers, _Or maybe she was too close to him. Emotions can destroy both a spy and a civilian. _I only vaguely note that my hand was around hers.

"And your mother?" I ask softly. Cammie's eyes are a shade darker; the darkest I've seen it-they finally meet my stare again. A wry smile pulled at her lips, and she suddenly looked much more mature than the frantic and sweet girl that helped me out.

"She's alive," I can feel the "but" hanging off the end of the sentence, but I don't push for her to continue. I look at her for another second and drop my gaze to our connected hands. I didn't need to look up to see that she was staring at our intertwined fingers. I'm pleasantly surprised when she doesn't pull away from my grasp, my thumb caressing absent circles on the back of her hand.

"_So_," a new voice dragged out. Cammie's hand jolts away from mine as she jumped in her seat. It began to worry me when I missed the warmth of her hand, but the worry quickly evaporates into annoyance at the interruption. "You made a new friend, Cam?" the voice comes from behind me.

I didn't look at Cammie's reaction and twisted around to see a guy leaning on the side of the leather booth. I get more exasperated at the fact that I didn't see him coming from behind me. My senses sharpen and I lean back, casually, on the table as I examined him.

He has waves of champagne colored hair that got darker at different curls. I almost glare at him, but continue taking details. His eyes are crossed between sky blue and steel gray. He looked around my height. He's probably around my age judging from his deep voice. Mystery guy looks like he worked out too.

"Listen man," his voice is easygoing but it took a lot more to fool me. Suddenly his friendly eyes narrow into irritated slits, his voice going harsh. "Stay the fuck away from Cammie,"

* * *

Excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes, this is the unedited version. I'll edit it later and repost, don't worry. Just had to get you loyal readers/reviewers a chapter before I get back to school *sigh*

I have newer stories for the Gallagher Girls series, Heist Society crossover with GG, and soon I'll be writing a Night World stories. SO MY FELLOW FANS OF NIGHT WORLD, check it out when I publish it. Just go to my profile and you'll see my stories

And I will be writing for **Gallagher Rose (or G-Rose)'s FRIENDSHIP CHALLENGE**! For details, go to her profile. It's an awesome idea and I encourage ALL of my readers to write something for it. I'm writing an entry and it's real fun for me ((: So WRITE!

Anyways…back to my chapter. If you've read What Happens When You Fall Hard you'll know who has champagne hair and blue-grey eyes. Why is he telling Zach he needs to stay away from Cammie? Is he her boyfriend? Her guy friend that has a crush on her? An obnoxious co-worker? Feel free to guess!

Thanks for reading, please review if you want me to write the chapter. Point out flaws and I'll improve.

First SEVEN reviewers will get the sneak peek, please review!

~A wishing-spring-break-was-longer Diva~


	4. Tours

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! It all belongs to Ally Carter.**

_**(Author's Note) **_SORRY! Please let me live! SORRY! :'( I'm _so, so, so_ **sorry**! I mean, over three months. **WORST UPDATING SKILLS EVER!** D: Again, my most sincere apologies! I won't bother you with my excuses. All I can say is: writer's block.

Anyways: HOLY COW! **THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING YOU GUYS!** I so don't deserve this; but I'm appreciating all of it! We finally broke the 100 mark, **WOOT! _Thank yo__u_** to all those who have supported this story. And I'd like to send another** THANK YOU **to all the people who haven't given up on this story. I've finally gotten what I want for this story in my head, so updates should be more regular!

And I've had numerous questions on whether Cammie is a spy or not, I'll answer you all the same: I can't say. I thought it would be a good mystery of whether she is or not. You can feel free to guess though.

Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

One of the benefits of being a spy is meeting new people. This usually happens during a mission—but for Zach, it was more of a pre-mission rendezvous. He was actually nurtured back to health by a young lady whom he's never met.

At first he's suspicious, thinking she was an enemy agent hunting for information. But finally he concluded that the young woman, Cammie, was just a kind, generous 19 years-old girl. A bit naïve, Zach thought, for letting a complete stranger into her apartment, but he was still grateful nonetheless.

Zach learned a lot about the girl. They had some common interests, but nothing so huge that he would act on it, right? What was still a mystery to him were her parents. From the way she worded it, her father was dead and she confirmed that her mother was alive; though she didn't seem much content with that either. Before he could prod for more information, someone interrupted. A young man with champagne colored locks and steely blue eyes. Who was he? Read to find out.

* * *

M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:

_**Black Out**_ – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.

_Level A _– Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much As Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.

**Level B **– Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months

Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months

_Level D _– Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.

**Level E **– Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours

* * *

**Chapter Four: Tours**

"_Being overprotective shows someone you care, would you rather have me not care or would you rather have me take a bullet in the leg for you? I'm ready to do either," – Grant Newman_

Location: Perkin's Family Restaurant

Oxen Hill, Maryland

Date: Sunday, July 14th Time: 11:19 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"One of my questions should have been 'Do you have a crazy-ass boyfriend?'" the thought was directed to Cammie, but my eyes were still locked with smoldering blue smoke colored ones.

My senses immediately subtilize; they were as sharp as a blade. And no matter how small he seemed to wince I still caught it. But his eyes weren't crazed with envy; I didn't pick anything up that was anything remotely similar to pain, all I detected from the steely blue irises was disgust.

"And exactly who would want to be Cammie's boyfriend?" his voice was seething with repulsion. _You do, don't you?_ I didn't say the sentence aloud, but I got the answer soon enough from the girl behind me.

"Oh shut up, Logan. Remember I'm your _older_ sister, you should be respecting me." I twisted around to see her viridian eyes gleaming playfully at the guy with champagne locks. The guy supposedly named Logan stepped closer to her; his blue slate eyes glaring at her green ones with something like sibling rivalry spiking through them.

"You're more likely to be an old hag, so what? And I don't need to respect anything." He retorted, but his gaze finally turns back to me; the playfulness fled from his tone, his eyes reminded me of the cold steel it got its shade from—hard, sleek and guarded. "Like I said, stay the hell away from my sister," I smirked.

"Why would I do that? I owe your sister a lot, especially after last night," I couldn't help it. It was just too easy. Logan's eyes narrowed immediately. I felt a satisfied sneer make its way to my expression as I sank into the leather booth with ease.

Cammie's eyes flashed as she got what I was implying. I had no doubt in my mind that when her lips parted a smartass comment would be directed to me. But a tan fist grabbing the front of my ivory shirt cut her off.

"What the hell did you do to my sister you mother—"

"Oh I did a lot, don't worry." I cut in. His face went red with rage, his eyes flaming with violence. His nostril flared as he glared me down, trying to scare me away. Yeah, not working. If anything, he just made me want to laugh and push further; he looked like a cartoon character, all he needed was some steam to come shooting out of his ears and he'd be set.

"Listen you fucking son of a—"

"Stop it!"

Logan's hand falls from the front of my shirt as both of our heads snap over to see infuriated eyes on a very angry woman with her hands sassily placed on the curves of her hips (something I learned was_ never_ a good sign with women).

"Listen, Logan nothing happened between Zach and me, alright? I just helped him out 'cause I found him passed out outside of 40/40. All I really did was let me stay in the guestroom and gave him some breakfast!" Cammie explained with that same reasonable and calming tone she used with me.

Though it saved me the time of beating her brother's ass, I still thought it was annoyingly soothing. Pretty oxymoronic, eh?

Logan visibly relaxed and turned to me, throwing a somewhat shy and apologetic smile towards me.

I hid the shock I accumulated from the two siblings; two sentences left Cammie's mouth and he automatically believed her. If they were allowed in the field, they would have been buried under ten feet of dirty and concrete after five minutes. I gave a curt nod and that was enough for him to relax again.

"Nice to know that you're not after my sister," he grinned happily. "Even if you did, you'd have a hell of a lot of competition though." I gave an entertained smirk his way, catching him in a contradictory but Cammie beat me to it.

"Oh? Really?"—Cammie's lips lift in a smirk of her own—"'Cause I distinctly remember you saying 'Exactly who would want to be Cammie's boyfriend?'"

Logan colored a bit and stuck his tongue out at the giggling dirty blond.

"Very mature," She gave off a smile that brightened her eyes and spotlighted features in her face that I overlooked. Trust me, she wasn't anything like the models you see strutting down a runway (or McHenry when she was strutting down Base 11's halls) but even I had to admit, she was incredibly easy on the eyes when she smiled.

"Anyways, Zach," Logan turned his attention to me. "I'm pretty sure that Cammie's not interested in you—actually, I think she wants you to drop dead." His voice was cheery and he was nodding at what he said as if it were a known fact.

I raised a brow at his words, wanting to tell him exactly how many girls I've dated and how they all came pawing after _me_. But deciding it would be a bad for him to know my dating history. My romantic past wasn't very colorful, most of the girls came close to the being the same. All pretty faced, 'yes' girls who wouldn't think for themselves if their boyfriends were around. Yes, they were kind and beautiful, but that can't sustain a relationship with me very long. They were so close together in personality, I struggled to remember their names at times. But my history was long enough to be impressive.

"Oh and why do you say that?" I asked, feeling like I was either really going to like the answer or feel the need to use the Wendeskley Maneuver on him. He simply grinned and ignored the curious gaze of his sister across from me.

"Well," he drew out the word. "You ate her cooking, didn't you?" One second I see a flushing girl and her laughing brother and in the next the three of us are kicked out by the New Yorkian Manager for causing a "disturbance" in his restaurant.

_Huh, maybe this Sunday wouldn't be so boring after all._

_

* * *

_

I take what I said back; this Sunday _was _going to be boring. All my interests were withering away while I trailed slowly behind the bickering siblings. How Logan was two years younger than Cammie when he was practically two feet taller than her was beyond me.

After getting kicked out of Perkins (which was, surprisingly, a first for me), the most action I've seen for the past forty-five minutes was the slightly cracked sidewalk soaking the yellow sunrays. That is, until two old ladies walked by talking about murders.

"Yes, I heard it happened last night. A young woman and her two kids were found dead behind a grocery store. They said the mother was a doctor at Mercy Hospital and her two boys were six and eight years-old." The taller of the two said. My blood froze. _Last night. I could have been murdered. _Then reprimanded myself of the selfish thought immediately and turned my concentration back on the two gray headed women.

"Poor things; I heard they died from blood loss. The police should be doing something about this!" The other ranted, angered. "Look where our tax money is going!"

I was trained to pick out sounds like that, but the elderly women were speaking loud enough I could have assumed they each swallowed a megaphone. I hadn't realized my pace was slowing down to a halt, until I almost collided with the brother and sister in front of me. Cammie's electric eyes were wide as she stared after the two gray heads bobbing their way away from us. Logan's form was rigid, his back towards his sister and me.

"Oh god…" Cammie's fingers covered her mouth while her eyes went a shade darker. "…again?"

I forced myself not to stiffen at this. _Again?_ I thought. _This happened before_? It was Cammie who answered the silent question in my mind.

"There's been a few—disappearances going on around here," I could have sworn that she stopped herself from saying the word 'murder'. My eyes studied her saddened face; it lost its pale pink blush while her eyes were a dark, melancholic green.

"There've been a few murders, but a damn load of casualties." Logan hissed; his voice was bitter and hard with steel eyes to match. Cammie immediately looked away, her eyes gazed at anything—anywhere that wouldn't look back.

"You don't have to explain if you don't want to, you know." I said softly, though my insides were trying to contradict me; being a spy made me want every detail, and when murders were involved it made me want to interrogate. But it didn't take an agent from the CIA to realize that the murders were a touchy subject for the siblings.

"Thanks Zach." She said softly, giving a weak smile. I nodded. "I appreciate it."

I nodded again, feeling oddly like an idiotic bobble head. A minute and twenty-two seconds passed, but it may as well have been hour with the heavy tension in the air.

"Zach?" I snapped my attention back up only to find her smiling smugly, a gleam in her eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. I turned my curious eyes to Logan, only to see him shrug with an expression that spelled _why-are-you-looking-at-me?_

"Yeah?"

"Remind again; you're new to Oxen Hill, right?" she asked, feigning nonchalance but failing miserably.

"Yeah, that's right." I said cautiously, eyeing Cammie suspiciously. "Why?"

"Oh." A full-blown grin emitted from her face now. "Then allow Logan and me to be your tour guides."

* * *

The Things That Really, Really Surprised Me about Touring Oxen Hill with Cammie [insert last name].

(A List made by Zachary Goode)

1) That Logan declined the offer of tagging along or, as Cammie put it, becoming her sous-tour guide.

[EVIDENCE: "I'm not being seen with you two. You may not live here Zach, but _I_ do and I've got a rep to uphold." He said, his tone prideful as his sister rolled her eyes at him and faced me.

"Don't listen to him. He just wants to go and start making out with his girlfriend, Annie for the rest of the day." She said and I noticed Logan didn't deny anything either.

My eyebrows shot up.

"You're leaving me with your sister?" I asked, knowing the effect those simple words would cause in him. Logan glared, but then smiled smugly.

"If you try anything with her, remember that Cam's motto is 'a girl needs to know how to take care of herself,'" he informed, a smirk of his own plastered onto his face. I shrugged, still not getting his point.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His grin widened, "Meaning, if you try to cop a feel on her, get ready to be punched in the nuts, man."]

2) The fact that when asked about her full name she refused to tell. Other girls would have been tossing hair and flinging phone numbers at me while flirting. But not her.

[EVIDENCE: "Why can't you tell me?" I asked puzzled. She looked up at me with a sobered expression, but her eyes were laughing. Whether it was _at_ me or _with_ me, was the question.

"How do I know you're not some stalker wanting to follow me around?"

I smirked and replied, "I thought we established that I'm not a stalker or an axe murderer."

She eyed me skeptically. "We also established that you're _supposedly_ a spy—you expect me to believe anything you say after _that_?"]

3) That no matter how hot it was outside my ice cream cone from _"Jim's Parlor" _wasn't a sloppy mess.

[EVIDENCE: "This thing isn't melting; should I be glad about that or not?" I questioned, taking another bite out of the frozen treat. A normal DQ Blizzard would have been dripping dairy product like a leaky roof in a storm by then.

Cammie was quick to reassure though. "Don't worry. Jim's Parlor has awesome ice cream." I gazed at her suspiciously, noticing the pupil of her green eyes shrink. _Gotcha._

"Oh, really? Why didn't _you_ get something then?"

At this she just smiled innocently and mockingly fluttered her long eyelashes. "No thank you, I don't think I'd like food poisoning at the moment. I happen to like my stomach."

I rolled my eyes, but continued chuckling. "You're exaggerating."

"Says the man that's eating something from the place that sends health inspectors running."]

4) I enjoyed the day with her way more than I anticipated to — way more than I _wanted_ to.

[EVIDENCE: "I had a good time today. I kind of liked being your tour guide, Spy Boy." She mused, looking at the dull orange and pink sky, the clouds splayed lazily up there.

I felt my mouth forming into a smile on its own accord, "Do you like it enough to make it your occupation? 'Cause I think your chances of staying at Perkins aren't very big." I stated. Cammie shot me a sharp look as if to say it was my fault her barista job was hanging by a thread (which it probably was). I grimaced, apologetic.

Her eyes softened—it surprised me that I didn't notice they could have put McHenry's blue orbs to shame. Even Bex would have envied them.

She smiled bitterly, "Exactly how much of a chance do you think I have at that place?" I pretended to ponder about it which elicited a more genuine grin from her.

"About…_this _much," I said, holding two fingers apart. She laughed softly.

"I'm actually glad about that. I don't want to be some waitress for the rest of my life. I just needed some extra cash so I have something to live off of when I head off to college. You know, enough for food, clothes, movies, recreations like um…"

"Hot dates with frat boys?" I asked teasingly, though a small sinking feeling settled in my stomach at the thought. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my subconscious was probably warning me about something, but my attention stayed on the dirty blond strolling next to me.

"You know, here's a thought to consider when picking a restaurant. We guys eat _a lot_. You know that already, but take that amount in your mind and make it, let's say three times bigger. That's the actual amount." I informed her.

Cammie giggled and said jokingly, "Oh please if I'm going to date a guy, he's got to be the one who pays the bill."

"Says Little Miss Independent." I teased back. Her eyes were dancing as she gave a small half-smile.

"So what are you going to be majoring in?" I inquired, honestly interested.

"Psychology, I want to become a therapist."

My reply was instant. "It suits you."

She stopped walking and turned to me with an inquisitive look creasing her brow. "What do you mean?" she asked, confused. I would have been lying if I didn't say that the look was endearing on her.

I smiled, "You've got this soothing thing about you,"—I waved my hands vaguely around her to show my point and she giggled—"You're serene, you're a good listener," I listed and thought back to the situation with Logan. "And you've got a pretty calming voice,"

She blushed and looked down, mumbling a shy, but still audible, "Thank you."

Cammie bounced back immediately and grinned modestly, "You wouldn't be thinking that if you heard me singing. I sound like Brian Johnson of AC/DC with too much estrogen."

"Hey, that isn't bad. He's a good singer, what's wrong with him?" She raised a brow, a gesture the reminded me eerily of Baxter.

"Is it considered good if I'm trying to sing along to Alicia Keys like that?" Cammie asked and I laughed. She grinned and we continued our walk to her car in silence.

After a few minutes of studying the chiseled asphalt we were walking on we finally made it to the silver Acura. My eyes leapt to the digital clock and spotted the time—6:49 p.m.

"I had a good time too, you know." I blurted as she gunned the engine. Cammie looked at me, sizing me up, I think.

"Really?" she questioned, albeit doubtful. I felt another smile splay across my face. And I knew I wasn't lying when I spoke up once again.

"Yeah, I really did. I'm really glad that I met you Cammie." _Too bad I'll never see you again._]

* * *

Cammie M. (I never actually got her to tell me her last name) dropped me off in the 40/40 Club parking lot. Three simple thoughts swirled around in my head as I set my feet on the asphalt.

_I needed to find my Viper._

_I needed to prepare for my mission the next day._

_I needed…_

"Bye, Spy Boy! Remember not to get drunk and pass out anymore, I won't always be there to save your ass."

…_a new nickname._

"Spy Boy? Really, Cam?" I asked and she shrugged.

"Either that or Jason Bourne Junior or maybe even Bonds Wannabe." I only shook my head and grinned again, chuckling a bit under my breath. I had been doing that a lot that day.

"See you, Spy Boy." _Or not. _And with that she drove away. I sighed and found my Viper. The feeling of loneliness was more acute than usual.

I didn't know what scared me more, the fact that I enjoyed her company so much or the fact that I missed it. A lot.

* * *

_**(Author's Note) **_Um, yeah, there you go! I liked the teasing banter between the two (but that's just me). I mean its fun to write. Sorry to everyone who wanted them to kiss/make-out or something. But that didn't seem very IC you know? Considering that they've just met one another. I was hoping to portray their friendship before any romance could take place (which it will!).

Um…so what do you guys think? Good? Bad? Marry it or Bury it? Please tell me in a **REVIEW!**

Again: _SO SORRY_ FOR NOT UPDATING FOR, LIKE, FOREVER! And Again: **THANK YOU SO MUCH** TO THOSE WHO HAVEN'T GIVEN UP ON THIS FANFIC!

And to those of you who had the sneak peek sent to you…I'll do my best to not make that mess up again! Speaking of sneak peeks…how about because I'm in a very happy mood the first **FIFTEEN** reviewers (if I even get that much) will get the sneak peek? Deal? Please?

~a-shitty-updater-named-diva~


	5. College

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN GALLAGHER GIRLS!**

_**(Author's Note) **_GAH! I'M SO **SORRY**! Things got busy, writer'sblock-itis came back (I have the plot, but I don't know how to make it well written enough for you guys), other stories to write for, my friend's boyfriend being a big fucking IDIOT! Sorry, still pissed at him for doing that to my friend. Um, anyways, back to earth.

You guys are the best. You put up with my_ terrible_ updating skills and keep supporting me(: It makes me so happy! **THANK YOU!** I PLATONICALLY LOVE YOU ALL! (: I can't express my appreciation through a keyboard without typing an essay, so please enjoy this chapter!

**Here's a shout out to: **BELINDA** (sorry for the late shout out! You know my memory sucks)! You all should thank her, because the chapter 4 wouldn't have been updated at all because she was the one to tell me which draft was best. This means, I wouldn't have updating THIS! So yeah: THANKS!**

**ENJOY!**

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_Replies to Anonymous Reviewers:_

mll7997: You always review my stories and I'd like to thank you (: it's extremely appreciated. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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MiniSloth: Ha, it WAS on the short side for me, but hopefully this is a little longer? You're probably the most observant reviewer I've gotten so far (everyone's observant, but you made a very good point). But maybe I didn't make it clear (which is very plausible): I didn't mean that all the quotes could be traced to the characters. They're mostly for entertainment, insight on some chapters, or just to give advice to people. Not all connect—but that doesn't mean she's not a spy or that she is one. Um, I'll shut up now, before I start spoiling anything (wow…I feel as if my IQ just went down). But THANK YOU for pointing that out and taking the time to review, I'm serious(: THANK YOU!

Bloodsucker: Ha, you reviewed twice. But that was a good reminder to me that people were hoping for an update that I was too lazy (and too…writer's block-y) to complete. THANK YOU for reviewing and reminding me to actually write. It's probably because of that second review that I got off my lazy butt. Thanks again!

* * *

Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

He spent the day with a civilian. _A civilian. _And he didn't collect any data on the massacre at all. What Zach Goode did do was walk around with Cammie M (what the hell was her last name?), eating bad-for-your-digestive-system ice cream, and actually enjoyed his day.

It shocked him. More than the fact that Tina told the entire populace of the CIA that Eva Alvarez was a lesbian just because she stole her favorite, blue sweater. But, it was interesting—not the sweater-lesbian thing—that the fact that Cammie talked about herself, but never gave much information out. She fed him data, just the kind of data that didn't tell Zach who she was.

Sure, he knew that her favorite color was red, but that didn't tell him how many family members other than Logan she had. Yeah, he knew that she affectionately gave people nicknames (see: Spy Boy, Bonds Wannabe, and/or Bourne Jr.) but that didn't tell him whether she was a gambler, a smoker, or alcoholic. Zach knew her father was dead—but that left nothing about her mother. She was enigmatic, yet somehow open. And he hated her for it—it's 'cause of her that he might actually miss Oxen Hill.

But still, what the hell was her last name?

* * *

M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:

_**Black Out**_ – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.

_Level A _– Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much As Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.

**Level B **– Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months

Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months

_Level D _– Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.

**Level E **– Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours

* * *

**Chapter Five: College**

"_Want to know what I've learned over the years? Guys are like M&Ms, some have nuts and, well, let's face it, some don't," –Macey McHenry_

Location: Office Room 127, CIA Base 11

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Monday, July 15th Time: 10:07 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

Doors were made for privacy; that's what I believed their purpose was for, but obviously, my friends didn't share my thoughts. First Baxter burst through it, now McHenry.

"Don't you people ever knock?" I asked, agitated. My leg was bouncing up in down anxiously, the timing of it synchronizing with my tapping pencil. I looked over that the ebony black haired girl in question. She was standing in the doorway, looking bored as usual.

Macey lifted up two fingers and lightly tapped the door twice. "There, happy?"

I rolled my eyes, getting more exasperated by the second. "Why are you here, McHenry?"

"What?" Her blue eyes widened mockingly, but my mind drifted to another pair of eyes that could have topped hers any day. A pair of very nice emerald eyes. "Not happy to see me, Zach?"

I rolled my eyes again, my patience slipping down the drain, not that I had much in the first place. "If you're not going to tell me why you're here, would you get out of my office? I have an important mission coming up soon." I snapped.

At this she stopped the examination of her navy, metallic colored nails. Her eyes finally began to focus as they narrowed into annoyed slits. "Listen Zachary; just be careful on that goddamn mission of yours. And don't try coming back to us in a box, understand?"

I blanched for second. And I smiled a little, shocked. Even the very cold, very fashionable Ice Queen of Make-Up had a heart (or whatever pumped blood into her veins) somewhere in that inflated chest of hers.

I smirked. "Thanks McHenry, nice to know you actually care,"—I spread my arms out from where I was leaning in my chair—"Want to give me a goodbye hug?"

"Oh just fuck off, Zachary!" She was seething and angrily flipped her hair over her shoulder. I sobered and lost the smirk and looked at her seriously.

"I'll be careful. I plan on coming home in one piece, Macey. I promise." From the look on the heiress' face I knew she was still skeptical. But it changed in an instant. I knew that look; it was the look all the Gallagher Girls had, their face muscles were all used to the expression. And I suddenly missed the snobby, sarcastic bitch-of-a-friend side of McHenry I was accustomed to.

The expression wasn't skeptical anymore, but _knowing_, as if comprehending something I could never seem to grasp. I hated that look. I hated the shaky feeling it gave me. But what I hated most was the reason they used that look; a reason that was still unknown to everyone except the students of Gallagher Academy.

Macey looked down and said quietly, "Promises were made to be broken. There are things you don't know about. We're all still naïve newbies here. Trust me when I say this, once you disappear,"—she looked up and her azure eyes looked suspiciously glassy—"You're gone for good."

My stomach felt as if it had dropped to my feet. Grant, Jonas (from where he was in the NSA) and I knew that practically all the Gallagher Girls—those three roommates in particular—were touchy and strangely worrisome about anything pertaining to the risk of losing anyone. Even at times when their guaranteed to come back; they still worry. When I first witnessed this, I immediately thought they had the wrong job. A job where the occupational hazard was either: a) losing loved ones and/or b) being the lost loved one.

I nodded solemnly. "I may not know what got you girls like this,"—Macey stood straighter and turned her head to the window—"but I get what you're saying."

She nodded her head and finally sick and tired of the depressing tension that descended the room I improvised. "Still want that hug, McHenry?"

Macey narrowed her eyes, but I noted with some satisfaction that they weren't glassy anymore. _Yes, _I thought, _the Ice Queen is back. _

"Not even if my life depended on it, Goode."

I rolled my eyes, my satisfaction evaporating almost instantaneously. Leaving only a thick layer of annoyance. Macey had that effect. "Now leave," I commanded, making a shooing motion with my hands to the door.

With a spin of her heel and a dramatic flip of her black hair, Macey exited my office as abruptly as she had entered. I leaned back into my seat with a sigh as the door was slammed close. I momentarily thought about _locking_ the door, but thought better of myself, knowing they would just _pick _the stupid lock (Damn copy of _The Third Edition of the Art of Lock Picking_). Being a spy gave you a private life; but given the abilities we had—nothing was private for very _long_.

I glanced down at my watch and the actuality of everything crashed down.

I was going on a mission.

A Level B mission.

And I was already running late.

Shit.

And with that pleasant thought I fucking _flew _out of the room.

* * *

Location: Director's Office, CIA Base 11

Washington D.C., MD

Date: Monday, July 15th Time: 10:26 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary Goode

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Goode." I suddenly felt like a schoolboy being scolded by his teacher for being late to class. Not the best pre-mission feeling in the world, but I settled.

"I'm sorry, sir," I apologized politely and slid into one of the three seats in front of his desk. Mr. Jordan nodded and shuffled with something in his large desk.

The Director pulled out an iPod and set it facing me. I felt my eyebrows greet my hairline. I expected a stun gun, not a music player.

"Here, take this. It is protocol that anyone proceeding with a Level B mission or higher is to have his or her assignment recorded instead of printed." He explained. "Each song enlisted in this is another snippet of information you will need to complete your objective, do you understand, Mr. Goode that you must dispose of this as soon as you memorize your information?"

I picked it up, realizing that the small item in my hand was equal to a whole filing cabinet full of manila folders. "Yes, sir, I do."

Director Jordan nodded. "Now as for your companions on this mission,"—my eyes widened. _Wasn't this a solo mission?_ He pressed one of the several buttons on his desk and spoke into a receiver_—_"Ms. Young, please send the two NSA agents for Mission 907832 to my office."

A beat. "Zach!"

Holy fuck. I knew that voice.

"Jonas? What the hell are you doing here?" I asked incredulously, momentarily forgetting the Director was in the same room. I grinned broadly at the lanky, soot haired brainiac standing in the doorway.

Jonas North rolled his cerulean eyes but was smiling. "Gee, nice to see you too Zach."

I smirked, but said nothing in return. A throat cleared and I turned my attention, once again, to my boss.

"It is good to see you, Mr. North,"—he nodded towards Jonas who sank into the seat beside me—"and you as well, Mr. Lindstrom."

My eyes trailed back to the door once again to see a guy that looked to be sixteen, apparently Mr. Lindstrom, with messy red hair and light blue eyes. His built resembled a leaner version of Jonas' and he nodded curtly towards the Director, slipping into the seat to my left.

Another beat. "Now Mr. Goode, I assume that you've picked the location for your assignment."

I immediately thought of Oxen Hill, which dreadfully led to the girl that refused to get out of my head. Cammie. Her laugh still stubbornly rang in my ears. I turned my gaze to Jonas, silently questioning him on where to go.

"It's your call, man." My ex-roommate said. Gee, thanks for the fucking help there.

I sighed. "Yes, I have made my choice."

"And that would be?" Mr. Jordan prodded impatiently.

I sighed. Again. "I'd like to request we go to…"

* * *

_"See you, Spy Boy." __Or not. __And with that she drove away. I sighed and found my Viper. The feeling of loneliness was more acute than usual._

_I didn't know what scared me more, the fact that I enjoyed her company so much or the fact that I missed it. A lot._

_

* * *

_

_Oxen Hill, Maryland, _a voice whispered.

"Cambridge, Massachusetts." I blurted, almost taken back with myself. Almost.

Three first-class tickets were set on the table which the black haired genius snatched up.

Jonas whooped at the mention of his hometown. The redhead—Lindstrom—grinned and nodded his approval. I welded a plastic smile onto my face, which must have seemed realistic enough because we were shooed out of the office to find our bags immediately.

The second I entered my Viper, the smile dropped off my face. I pulled on my suitcase and drove down the highway and saw the green sign: _OXEN HILL NEXT RIGHT_.

I took a left.

* * *

"_It was nice to meet you, Zach. I'm actually kind of glad you thought to get kicked out of that club." She said shyly. _

_I smiled. "Just part of my master plan."_

_She laughed, "Well, whatever it was, I'm grateful. I'm having a lot fun."_

_I smirked. "You're with me, of course you're having fun." She shook her head, but continued smiling happily. _Accomplishment of the day, _I thought to myself, _made a civilian friend.

* * *

I smiled ruefully, suddenly feeling that same tightening in my chest when Grant's cousin came back from a Level A half-dead. It could have been different—I just didn't give a damn to try and figure it out. _A civilian friend I'd never see again._

And for once, against all logical thinking, I was hoping I was wrong.

* * *

Location: Delta Airplane,

Somewhere in the sky over Massachusetts

Date: Monday, July 15th Time: 8:59 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"He can't be that bad, Jonas." I said, glancing over at the NSA redhead, Arnold Lindstrom, across the plane aisle. His freckled face deep in a book I saw was _To Kill a Mockingbird_. "At least he has good taste in books." I noted. I turned back to a fuming Jonas sitting at the window seat. His blue eyes glared at me.

"You don't have to see this guy every single day." He hissed, ignoring my book comment. "He freaking stalks me, Zach. Always following me around. At first I thought it was flattering and all, but now it's just fucking annoying."

My eyes went back to Arnold and his book and then back to Jonas, a hint of a smirk on my face. "Aw," I cooed. "You have a fan."

Jonas continued to glare. "Liz said something like that too. She doesn't see the problem with him and always tells me that I should just be nice to him."

I nodded knowingly. "You should listen to your woman, Jonas."

"She's not my _woman,_" He grumbled and took a swig of his water.

I smirked. "So that rumor Tina Walter's been spreading about you and Liz doing the nasty in a lab isn't true, then?"

He choked, and doubled over coughing. I whacked him on the back a couple times as a few curious heads turned our way. Once his gagging fit was over he looked up at me through his curly, black bangs. "Tina said that?"

"Are you surprised?" I asked dryly. Jonas shook his head, knowing about Tina Walter's antics.

Then a thought struck me. "You didn't answer the question; is that rumor true?"

He looked out the window, mumbling a quiet, "No." But sadly, his hair wasn't long enough to completely cover his ears, which were a rosy pink now.

My eyes popped open wide as I said, "Holy shit, it actually happened. You two did it in a _lab_?"

"Yeah," he murmured, growing hotter.

I smirked, "Just couldn't wait 'til you got to the apartment, could you? Hell, Jonas, couldn't you have kept it in your pants 'til the _car_?" Never in my life have I ever known of, met or seen someone who could turn _that _red in a matter of seconds. Eighth wonder of the world, I'm telling you.

My smirk widened but I said nothing more. I knew when to stop teasing the guy and the limit was right then. It was easy to tell where the line was drawn. His face would become as red a stop sign—which was actually a pretty convenient tip if you thought about it.

"Would you like anything, sir?" a flirtatious voice asked suddenly. I turned from my blushing friend to see a young woman with blond-white hair and wide brown eyes in a turquoise stewardess' uniform.

I answered politely, "Uh, no thank you miss."

But she persisted, "Oh really?"—she started twirling her hair—"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

I concealed a wince and continued to smile obliviously, "Nope, I think I'm good."

She seemed to pout, her puffy lip jutting out—_God, what're in lipsticks or whatever the shit girls are wearing? Snake venom?—_and walked away and relief flooded my body. I didn't exactly rejoice in rejecting women, but it was beyond exasperating to turn them down when it was clear I wasn't interested. I felt a nudged and turned back to a confused (and normal colored) Jonas.

"What?" I asked. He continued his incredulous gaping. "_What?_"

"She's hot." Jonas said simply, "And interested. And you didn't even flirt back."

I shrugged, "Just because she's interested, doesn't make me interested."

Jonas scoffed, "Says the guy who dated over 70% of the CIA's female population."

I shrugged again, and began digging for the iPod the Director gave me. "Like I said before, I just wanted a serious relationship and that was my attempt to find it. And it didn't work so well."

He snorted, "From the fact that people that people think of you as a mix of 'Casanova,' 'Don Juan,' and 'James Bonds,' I'd say that 'didn't work so well' is an understatement."

I scrunched my nose at the thought and started unwinding the headphones around the music player. "Really? _James Bonds_?"

"Not the point." He stated. "The point is that you're labeled as a manwhore by every CIA agent."

"You don't even _work _at the CIA." I snapped.

Jonas shrugged, "It's a fact." _Did he pull the statistics out of his ass or something? _

I plugged the white headphones into my ears and browsed through the iPod and chose the first list of songs. The small screen flashed _Blow Me Away_ and instead of the sound of electric guitars I heard Mr. Jordon's commanding voice.

"_Hello, Mr. Goode. As I told you beforehand, your cover is quite flexible for this particular mission. You have chosen Cambridge, Massachusetts as your destination. Your cover with be Zachary Michael White. Age: 19. Date of Birth: May 22, 1991. Occupation: Student of Harvard University—Double major of Law and Mathematics."_—I resisted the urge to cringe at the thought. But instead I tapped my foot to an imaginary beat as I continued listening—"_Family: No siblings. You have a stepfather whom you do not get along with, and an alcoholic mother—the reason you do not reside at home and is placed in the dormitory. Your legend's personality is up to you."_ A click.

My eyes went to Jonas and quickly skid over to Arthur. Jonas was glancing out at the misty clouds we were gliding through and Arthur was eating the complementary peanuts. Each of them knew that after I was done and a specific interval of time took place (five minutes and thirty-three seconds for Jonas and seven minutes and two seconds for Arthur) that they would be listening to their own covers as well.

I pressed button after button and landed on an Eminem song and heard an almost mechanical, female voice read off my new alias.

"_Your mission objective is to find the culprit to the string of murders that have been circulating around the Cambridge, Massachusetts area for nearly a month. It has been noted that all the victims attended Harvard University. The following citizens were found dead, from what authorities think, by assassination: Amelia Everdeen. Age: 20. Occupation: Student; Business Major. Henry Wood. Age: 19. Occupation: Student; Art History Major. John Vang. Age: 29. Occupation: Literature Professor. Helen Williamson. Age: 18. Occupation: Student; Double Major—Mathematics and Psychology—"_

_

* * *

_

_"So what are you going to be majoring in?" I inquired, honestly interested._

_"Psychology, I want to become a therapist."_

_

* * *

_

My foot stopped its tapping and I shielded the horror that I had acquired from the memory. I suppressed a sigh and leaned back into the cream colored plane seat. I looked over and was shocked to see Jonas with a thick blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon and the black sky behind him. My internal clock chimed 10:00 and I stared at the ceiling. My sleep-hungry eyelids fell down heavily but the green eyes I saw wouldn't let me rest.

* * *

Location: Room 357 of Knightly Apartments,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Tuesday, July 16th Time: 2:30 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

The apartment was pretty damn impressive. Everything looked as if it was pulled straight out of an IKEA commercial. Jonas was already ogling the computer system both the NSA and CIA had hooked us up with.

("This is a G47 module! Do you know how hard it is to actually _get _this stuff?" Jonas asked incredulously. I rolled my eyes, "You're just like Grant and his cars!" He glared at me, "No way, besides Maria's better than some Ferrari." "Maria…? Oh, for fuck's sake, Jonas, you _named _the computer?" "…Yes." "Forget what I said before, you're _worse _than Grant.").

I finally saw Jonas' fan club in action. A babbling Arnold followed him around, agreeing with everything he said as I snickered at the black look on Jonas' face.

("I wonder how much this thing cost," Jonas pondered aloud, eyes glued to the machine. "Pretty expensive, but I bet you could do a way better job, Jonas!" Arnold grinned, "I mean, you made that new memory erase formula—except that it works for soda now! And then you made the Napotine patches in the form of a band-aid. Oh! There was that one stun gun and shoe combination—" "How did you know I made those—it's classified." "Oh, I looked up your file! You're awesome; I can't wait to be like you!" Arnold tackled him in a hug. Jonas' face just _screamed, _Fuck My Life.)

I plopped onto the nearest bed I could find and stared at the iPod of information. _Twelve consecutive murders, _I mused grimly, a frown dropping into my lips. _All connected by Harvard University and, in some way, at least one of the majors: business, math, psychology, art history or literature._

I pulled out my laptop and started hacking, fingers tapping quickly over the keyboard. Harvard was just about to enroll a very interesting pair of students.

_**One Month, Three Weeks, and One Day later…**_

Location: Lecture Hall,

Harvard University

Date: Thursday, September 7th Time: 10:30 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

**Covert Operations Report**

**Day 53**

**The death count of Harvard University, as of this last month, had increased by the murders of Alice Winston, a senior student that was found dead behind the girl's dormitory (whom fit the pattern; she was preparing to graduate with a degree in Art History) and Carey Xiong, a junior student that was found dead near one of the campus stores (her major was in Business). Further information has been updated into the database. **

My first day of college. Being a graduate from Blackthorne or Gallagher didn't exactly expand your life into a university; unless you wanted to lead a normal life instead of the Field. This of course led to drinking memory loss tea (you see, that's just another reason I didn't like that herbal crap) (Fuck, I just remembered Jonas made a memory loss Pepsi). So I suppose you could say I was a bit anxious of starting now. Jonas however looked as if he was going to shit his pants—in a good way (if there's such a thing as a 'good way' with that predicament).

"You know, I don't think pissing yourself will be give you a very good impression with our professor," I said to Jonas and his face-splitting grin, but smirked a bit myself. I was about as excited as he was—just not at the 'wet-your-jeans' level. "If anything, it'll give Professor Montgomery the idea you'll need Pampers and some baby wipes."

He punched my shoulder and I laughed as I rubbed at it. "You are one son of a bitch, Zach White. You know that?" Jonas stated cheerfully, remembering our cover.

I smirked, "The best and most kickass son of a bitch you'll ever meet, Jonas Morganson."

Jonas laughed and we turned the corner, passing frat boys, sorority girls, and many other cliques on the way—it wasn't as diverse has Hollywood made it out to be, though I admitted there were still pretty distinguished groups. It was just the fact that I had no idea which crowd I was going to be in for the following months.

Being an agent from birth taught you to be someone else. A strict cover would have worked better than the loose one I was given. It was a fact that I'd rather be Zach White than Zach Goode on that mission, but I didn't exactly have a choice did I?

"Time for Mathematics," I deadpanned, already bored before I even set foot in the classroom.

Jonas rolled his eyes, "Working with numbers isn't _that _bad, Zach. It won't kill you,"

"Unless I go suicidal from the boredom." I quipped, eyeing Jonas' hefty math textbook distastefully. "You know, I _can _kill myself with a paperclip—it wouldn't even be painful. And I'm sure if you asked Arnold, he'd be willing to do all the funeral work for you."

His face darkened at the mention of his redheaded fan. "I'm glad he's not old enough to be at college."

I laughed and the raven haired boy scowled, "What's the fun in that? But I seriously think he's got a boy-crush on you or something."

"Dude, no one says 'crush' after high school,"

I smirked at his attempt to change the subject, but relented. "Whatever."

The Mathematics Classroom reminded me of a movie theater—there were rows and rows stacked on top of one another with maroon seats you needed you pull down. There were three narrow sets of cement stair cases descending from the top to the bottom towards the large desk in front of the whiteboard. The air was alive with chatter from the other sophomore students already collected in the room.

Then a shrill voice shrieked and I visibly cringed at the thought of listening to that for the next two and a half hours, "Class let us begin!"

* * *

Three Things I Didn't Expect to Happen on My First Day of (Almost) Official College

(A List made by Zachary Goode)

1) That the effects of Professor Montgomery's lame get-to-know-me speech could possibly lead to bloody ears

(or more accurately, the paranoia of think you have bloody ears from that goddamn voice. What was so ironic was the fact that she said she was in Church Choir and I couldn't help but feel terribly sorry for the priest—he couldn't cuss his troubles away).

2) The fact that during Professor M's autobiography of her life, a perky knock on the door shut her up instantly about her days as a high school teacher

("…and because of that horrific incident I have taken it upon myself to become a college professor to those who are enthusiastic about learning and thriving for knowledge and _not _sneaking into my car to, how you kids say, 'hook up,'"—it was when I pondered on whether she realized that she just gave about 25% of the guys in that lecture hall an idea they could do with their girlfriends that someone knocked on the door—"Oh, looks like someone here is tardy, class," the strict teacher said loudly to the closed door.

The class looked as if it would have cared more about dying grass and drying paint. The gray-haired woman trudged her uncomfortable looking pumps to the door and clawed it open. In popped a thin and miniature brunette, her smile looking airheaded as she gave a preppy greeting to the scornful professor. "Hi! My name is Lucinda Harrington—but I go by me Lucy! Lucinda is just an _ugh _name, I mean, what was my mother thinking? Anyways, nice to meet you, Professor Mont—"

Professor M cut in tersely. "You're late, Lucinda." Her icy, moss colored eyes cold and disapproving.

The brunette—Lucy—gasped dramatically, revealing a cobalt blue wad of chewed gum in her mouth. The mathematics teacher's frown deepened. "I know! And we are _so _sorry! The office messed up my schedule, apparently I was supposed to come here instead of going to English and I kind of dragged my friend around 'cause I don't know my way around yet and she did. Again, we are _so _sorry, Ms. M!" She ranted. Did she have a third lung or something?

The old bat's eyes narrowed. "We?"

"Yeah! Let me introduce you!" Lucy bounced happily.)

3) I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I knew that having her there wouldn't help with my mission, maybe it was a selfish reason, maybe it was because it looked like she knew more about the murders than I had, maybe it was because she understood how it was to lose someone, hell maybe it was because she was such an enigma. I still didn't know. But I granted myself lucky—maybe someone was looking over me?

From the doorway I see another girl emerge from behind the preppy and smiling Lucy. Straight, long blond and brown streaked hair. A shy, quiet, and almost timid smile. And calm emerald eyes.

Then of course, there was that silky voice. "Hello, Professor Montgomery—we've met before earlier this morning. Uh, I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your class and for getting Lucy and I tardy. My name is Cameron Morgan. It's nice to see you,"

_Cameron Morgan, _I mused. I smirked, _Nice to see you too._

_

* * *

_

_**(Author's Note) **_I am dissatisfied with this ending and this chapter (it was one of those "boring-but-necessary-info-wise" chapters). It's just BLEH (as Lucy would say). I mean, how overused is this? That was rhetorical! But, um, yeah! **But man, 12 PAGES on Word Doc, 11 font size, no spacing(: **

Wow, OC's are coming—how do you like/hate Arnold? Lucy? Heck, Professor M?

Did you like the mini-friendship-Zach/Macey moment?

Review? If you still support? Even if I'm update-challenged? Please? Um, first **TEN **(you know, if I get that much) reviewers get a sneak peek?

Note: keep an eye on all the murders that have happened. They aren't just random.

ANOTHER note: it's unedited, if you can tell.

AGAIN: **THANK YOU TO ALL! (: **I'm probably getting annoying, so I think I should stop(?)

~a-update-challenged-diva~

**/P.S. STORY RECOMMENDATION: **_my mistakes were made for you_ **written by** kiwiosity. **It's epically realistic. And well, just epic in general, you know? Highly recommended(:/**


	6. Notes

**The Disclaimer: The Gallagher Girls belong solely to Ally Carter, not **_**moi**_**.**

_**(Author's Note)**_**:** **You ALL have the RIGHT to HATE me**. A year. I seriously haven't updated for a year. And **I'm SO. SO. SO. SORRY.** Sorry doesn't even cut it. But, truly, school is very important, so I'm sorry but I had to take care of all my work. Work before Pleasure. And also, I've been writing for other fandoms (haven't published quite yet though) and I've also started my own original stories. Also, I've got a part-time job now, so…sigh.

But…

…a flippin' year…O_O _**I AM THE QUEEN OF NEVER UPDATING**._ Hopefully I'll be dethroned. Sigh.

I've turned into the authors I hate who never update. Dear Lord, I've turned into one of them! -.-" I'm so sorry, I feel absolutely guilty. But just so I can update faster, I've literally written out the plot line of the story and what I want to happen. I'm so sorry everyone!

_BUT THANK YOU TO ALL THE REVIEWERS WHO ACTUALLY REVIEWED THIS STORY, DESPITE IT'S MORE-THAN-YEAR LONG ABSENCE. THANK YOU! You all are amazingly loyal. I LOVE YOU ALL (in the non-stalker-ish way)!_

**TO MY FRIEND BELINDA (aka belindahuang on the site): THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME DECIDE EVERYTHING; and yes, I remembered your shout-out. TA-DA! :)**

* * *

_Replies to Anonymous Reviewers:_

lily: Thank you! I was glad I updated too…and now it's been a year…I'm seriously beating myself up on that if it is any consolation for you. But hopefully you're reading this, and if you are, thank you and I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reviewing!

mll7997: Thanks for your comments and review! They are always appreciated (: And I'm glad I could entertain you with the chapter!

MiniSloth: Oh, my. Don't worry! Technology can be a pain with me too. But I'm so glad you liked the chapter. And THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING! And yes, 'most observant reviewer' was a compliment. But I'm sorry if the quotes are tricky to understand, I only meant that the quotes aren't related to the story. I just thought I could find something funny for you guys to read or maybe a quote that would make you guys think? But it's okay! Thank you for taking the time (while at WORK, you are awesome) to write some reviews. THANKS!

like you care: Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad you think it's awesome and I'm sorry for the fact that you miss Cammie being a spy. And I can't make any comments regarding Cammie, 'cause I know I'll slip up somehow.

Bloodsucker: You're quite welcome! And thank you for taking the time to thank (so much appreciation going around, eh?) , read and review my story. And I'm so sorry for updating this soon. But hopefully you're still interested in this story to see my apology. Thank you for reviewing!

.liar.18: I love that song! And thank you for reviewing! And I thought Zach in college was a more original idea, since we see a lot of him in high school. Thanks for reading!

(blank, there was no screenname): Why, thank you. That really put a smile on my face! Thank you for taking the time to read and review!

anne: I'm so, so, sorry for not updating soon! I hope you can see this as my apology, but thank you for reviewing my story. It means a lot.

ninjagurl: I'm very sorry for not updating for such a long time, but I really hope you enjoyed the story and thank you for reviewing it!

lolIdon'tknow: Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you loved it and I really hope you love this chapter as well, but I'm very sorry for not updating in a year.

Anon: Thank you for reviewing and for your comments! And it's quite alright. I am very, VERY slack with my updates. Hopefully I'll change that around, but thank you for your review! And I'm sorry for that extreme delay!

ilovezach: I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! And for a year! I'm very bad at time management, as you can see. But thank you for your kind review, and I'm really hoping you'll like this update! Thanks!

mysterious: You make some good points there, but I'm very used to writing "Alternative Universe" fics, so they don't usually follow the actually book and what happens. I'm sorry if that's not to your liking! But thank you very much for reading my story and reviewing as well.

I: Thank you! You're awesome too! Thanks for reviewing!

BeachBallofLove: I'm glad you liked my other story and I hope you enjoy this chapter of this story. Thank you very much for reviewing it and reading (that should be reversed, shouldn't it?). I'm so sorry for the MASSIVE delay!

luv4zach: I'm so, so, SO, sorry for this gigantically long wait I made you go through. I hope you like this chapter, and thank you for taking the time to read and review this story!

* * *

Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

Unexpected things happened. Macey McHenry nearly cried and seemed worried of Zach (which got Zach worried that the girl lost part of her sanity). Zach travels to Cambridge, Massachusetts to enroll in Harvard with Jonas for his Level B mission. Along comes a lackey in the NSA, named Arnold, who apparently worships anything Jonas touches for the mission as well. A lot of these things happen. Goode has to find the mass murderer on Harvard's campus.

Oh yeah, I'm missing a few people, aren't I? Meet: Professor M; quite possibly the worst math teacher in the history of horrible math teachers. Meet: Lucinda Harrington (who, apparently, goes by: "Lucy"), a perky, tiny brunette who had the same amount of energy as the Energizer Bunny. And last, but not least, Meet (again): Cammie, whose last name is actually revealed this time around. Cameron Morgan.

Well…this'll be interesting, won't it?

* * *

**M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:**

_**Black Out**_ – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.

_Level A _– Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much As Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.

**Level B **– Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months

Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months

_Level D _– Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.

**Level E **– Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours

* * *

**Chapter Six: Notes**

_"Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer, and keep opposing operatives [when on a mission] in a locked cage somewhere. That's how you deal with a mission." - Abigail Cameron  
_

Location: Northern Courtyard,

Harvard University

Date: Thursday, September 7th Time: 12:26 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"What do you mean exactly when you say you _know _her?"

I drained my Coke bottle and regarded Jonas with a raised brow. His cerulean eyes were as sharp as broken glass, and I had no doubt in my mind that if he were a cat, he would have been hissing with his fur spiked up, as if he got his tail jammed into an electrical outlet. Jonas had been like this the second the Mathematics class was let out.

"Well," I started, grabbing at my lunch, "I know her name's Cammie Morgan. She's nineteen. She's got a younger brother. She's kind of the innocent type—y'know, the kind of girl who'd volunteer at a carwash to actually get some money, and not a boyfriend or two. Pretty naïve, like a kid, since she took me into her apartment—"

Jonas went from spy-mode to just…Jonas. His eyes were round. "Wait—_what?_"

I sighed. "I got thrown out of a 40/40—"

"Yeah, not the part that got me surprised there, man." _I kind of wished he was a cat at that moment so I could stick his tail into an outlet._

"I was pretty wasted," I ignored his snicker and took a chomp out of my BLT sandwich, "and from what I can tell, Cammie dragged me to her apartment and let me stay the night."

His face became serious once again: "And exactly when did this happen?"

I thought back to it all, to waking up in a different bed to getting kicked out of Perkins with her and her brother to how she showed me a tour of Oxen Hill. It was sometime in July. Nearly two months ago, I told Jonas this. He leaned against the stone picnic table we were at, arms crossed over his chest. I could practically see the gears in his head turning through his messy black hair.

"You don't find this suspicious? At all?" Jonas inquired, his questions ricocheting out his mouth faster than a machine gun. "Like how did she manage to drag you to her apartment? She doesn't look that strong. And Oxen Hill, that's pretty close to D.C. isn't it? She could have tailed you back to Base. And July? Isn't that around the time you first got this mission, Zach?"

I turned wary eyes to him and asked. "You don't think I haven't already thought those scenarios over before?" At the sight of Jonas' startled eyes, I sighed, and plucked open a bag of chips before continuing, "Trust me when I say that seeing her here doesn't make me any less suspicious than you." Which was the truth.

Jonas sighed and plopped down onto the stone bench, and pulled out his laptop from its grey case. "So…now what? Want me to upload her into the files?"

He made her sound like some kind of computer chip. I shook my head, "Director Jordan doesn't like information in the database unless it's concrete and can be useful to perform the objective. He won't want a report on her unless it's solid."

"I guess we don't need to import anything else." Jonas said slowly, his tone thoughtful, but his eyes were still a bit skeptic. "The next mandatory report is due at the end of the month though, if anything comes up, we'll get it down."

The wind picked up. I nodded: "For now, we take notes."

You see, the thing with Jonas is that his ears practically perked up at the sound of the word: "notes." Like a predator listening to the sounds of its prey (but you know, just a little less animalistic and little more academic) so it wasn't surprising to see him typing away at his laptop already.

"So we take notes," Jonas repeated slowly, and I could imagine him fiddling with his glasses, if he had them (apparently Jonas Morganson preferred contacts over Jonas North's everyday wire-rimmed glasses) (actually his glasses probably would've flown right out of his hand with the wind) "Exactly what do we do now?"

I crumpled the chip bag into a ball and aimed vaguely for the trash bin. Of course the wind had to pick it up and it went even farther. And farther. And farther—

"_Hey!_ Watch where you're aiming that!"

I rose and strode after my crumpled ball, and of course the fuming, pint-sized brunette who was assaulted by it. "Hey, sorry about that—"

A voice intervened. "—Lucy! I got our drinks!"

I vaguely realized Jonas had risen from the bench and was to my left, but I didn't take my attention away from what was happening to my right. My eyes sped from the pissed off brunette to the dirty blond holding onto two Starbucks.

"Hey there. Well," I grinned, holding my hands out, gesturing towards myself, "remember me?"

Round green eyes stared at me: "Holy _crap. _You really _are _a stalker."

Location: Adams House (Upperclassman Dormitory), Room 119

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts 

Date: Saturday, September 9th Time: 3:23 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

College class schedules aren't like regular high school schedules (or spy schools, for that matter). You don't have class sessions everyday; everything is scattered on different corners of the calendar. It was a numbers game. It didn't truly matter _when _the class was, as long as the painstakingly long hours of learning were paid and sat through. Not to mention tests—that were worth a shitload of percentage for your final grade—were thrown in our faces, meaning you better study so much your brain throbbed if you wanted to pass.

Good News: Jonas and I would breeze through our courses. Bad News: We had a cover to uphold and we had to study anyways. The only thing worse than studying Calculus 2 was already knowing it, but having to study it again.

"_Every cloud has a silver lining—something good might happen from studying this again." _That was what Jonas had told me (with Arnold obediently bobbing his head while spewing out compliments of Jonas' wisdom, one of which was:_ "You should listen to Jonas more, Zach. He's brilliant—and you're…you."_)

Note-to-self: Lock Arnold in closet.

(_"Never thought I'd say this, but thank you Arnold," _Jonas turned to me, a smirk on his face, _"it's okay, Zach—not all of us can be geniuses._)

(Another) Note-to-self: Lock Arnold _and _Jonas in closet.

I stuck the brass key into the lock to see a room that was a cross between what looked like a deluxe, presidential suite and a small condo. The _room, _if you could call it that, consisted of two bedrooms, each having its own bathroom, a kitchenette with a large living room already stocked with ivory colored furniture. _Not as good as the Knightly Apartment Jonas and I rented, _I thought, _but definitely nice._

The thing with Harvard was that, other than the freshman, there weren't exactly 'dorms' but rather different houses. The Housing System was for all upperclassmen and from what I already saw, there were about twelve different houses—nine that overlooked the Charles River and three about half a mile away from the Courtyard. There aren't necessarily houses divided by gender, from what I gathered, the houses were co-ed, with just same sex roommates (I'm sure Arnold would have loved sharing a room with Jonas) (Jonas, eh, not so much).

A sense of déjà vu hit me as I hefted a cardboard box into the room, my luggage suitcase trailing behind me. Growing up, I didn't necessarily have a home. At least not one that I could say I lived in for more than a few months. In my mind's eye, the image of a man appeared with blurred edges. He had been busy, but he hadn't given up on me (then again, I didn't trash his TV). Then his disappearance. I stifled a sigh. My home was my suitcase; I decided that a long time ago. With relatives like Ethan—

My face darkened. _No_. Not thinking of that.

Dragging my boxes and bags into the room, I started to unpack. It was easy—I've done it enough times, that's for sure.

* * *

The clock read _4:26_, by the time I was done setting up my bedroom. Pale white walls were covered by posters of bands and my computer desk was littered by textbooks and literary novels (some of which I wouldn't have minded reading) and the large king-sized bed was coated in black sheets. A mini-fridge sat in the corner with food Arnold had snagged from somewhere (the kid was born to steal stuff and still somehow abide to the legal laws at the same time). After changing into a white shirt, I walked into the living room. At the sound of footsteps, my eyes flickered towards the still-gaping door. My brain went over the basics—the soft _tap _told me they were around the range of 120 lbs, they were striding pretty quickly, the slight scuffing noise against the wooden floor of the hallway told me they were probably in sneakers—

"Oh," I said. "Hey, Cammie."

Cammie stopped at the sight of me (I mean, who wouldn't?), blinked, as if surprised I was there, but then grinned. My eyes went from the unopened paint can hung in her hand to the gray canvas sneakers on her feet. (_Knew it._)Glancing at the rest of her, I raised my brows at the pale yellow, too-large t-shirt that dwarfed her already tiny frame.

She seemed to stop and glance down at herself. "Lucy and I are repainting our room."

"That much I gathered," I said, almost amused, stepping into the hallway as well, closing the door with me. "I never knew you lived in Adams House."

She shrugged in her oversized gown of cotton, switching the paint can to the other hand. I smiled slightly; she looked kind of cute in it. Like a little girl dressing up in grown-up clothes. Cammie replied with, "Well, you see, I've learned that I shouldn't be giving out personal information to my stalker."

I stuck my hands deep inside my jean pockets and grinned. "But if your stalker was good, he wouldn't need you to tell him, right?"

"My stalker's rather obsessive then."

"I call it determined." I said, grinning. "You know, I could be your bodyguard."

She cocked a brow: "Oh really? My stalker is hired as my bodyguard. That's a twist; sounds like it came straight out of a horror film."

"Who says your stalker's homicidal. Maybe he just wants to be friends and hang out."

"Huh," replied Cammie, her eyes shining with laughter. "Well, you can tell my stalker to not hope for anything, _buuut_," her voice drew out the word before continuing, "if my stalker would help Lucy and I paint our room, I will not ask for a restraining order."

I grinned crookedly, and snagged the can from her small hand. "Deal."

Cammie was heading towards the flight of stairs, since her room was on the level above mine and Jonas'. A five minute conversation (consisting of the following: "So the fact you want me to help you with your room has nothing to do with the fact that I'm good-looking?" "Modest, aren't you?" "You didn't deny it." "I know Lucy would appreciate a hot guy in our kitchen." "And you wouldn't?" "Not really. I'd rather have a guy who's tall in my kitchen to paint the high places since Lucy forgot to supply brushes with long handles.") later, and we entered Room 207.

I expected to see a feminine version of the room I shared with Jonas with a few things moved around so the walls would be bare and alienated and ready to paint. Last thing I expected to see was that the person moving the feminine things away from the walls was actually Jonas himself.

"You don't mind moving the couch a little more to the left, do you, Jo?" Lucy asked, her lashes fluttering in my roommate's direction. He looked a little red in the face. Lucy bounded for him, in what looked like a cross between a hop and a skip. Seeing my friend sputter, I thought Lucy's hop-slash-skip was more like a territorial pounce than anything else. "I mean, you're so _strong_. Thanks again for helping."

Jonas mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, his black curly fringe covering his eyes as he ducked, and lifted a large couch more towards the left.

"Hmm," Lucy laid a painted nail to her chin, her other arm crossed her belly. "Maybe a _bit _more towards the left."

"Lucy!" Cammie exclaimed her arms placed on her hips. Like the time she scolded Logan in Perkins. The corner of my mouth tugged, however, because she looked about as commanding as small kitten in her overgrown shirt.

The brunette answered with an innocent, but loud. "What?"

Cammie sighed and crossed the room, sidestepping furniture, to Jonas, just as he spotted me. The blush was still stained on his cheeks, but I could never miss the alertness in his eyes as Cammie neared him. I immediately followed her towards my friend. "I'm really, _really, _sorry about her, Jo."

"Actually, my name is Jonas." I smirked, her back was towards me, but I saw the tips of her ears flush.

"Oh. Sorry Jonas, but you can feel free to leave any time you want," Cammie quickly continued, as if finding something wrong with what she said, "or you could let me and Lucy buy you dinner or something to pay you back for moving all of our furniture."

Jonas' eyes were alert, bordering wary, as he seemed to gauge her face. I knew without even having to look at her what Jonas would see. Sincerity. If the words came out of anyone else's mouth, it could have been taken as rude or a come-on.

"Well. Mostly Lucy will pay, since she got you into this."

"_What?_" Not so innocent sounding this time.

A few beats later, Jonas switched his gaze from Cammie to me. He still looked suspicious, but not so tightly strung it looked like he would round-kick someone in the face, I noted. Good. He was docile and wasn't going to bodily harm someone. That was called progress. He murmured something to Cammie and strolled over to me.

"So, _Jo_," I started. Jonas glared. I laughed. "How'd you end up with Lucy, over there?" I nodded over to the tiny brunette, who, by the way, was being scolded by Cammie ("I told you to go get something useful!" "I _did_!" "When I said 'something useful' I was kind of hoping for like an inanimate object—like a long-handled paintbrush." "Oh, but Jo can be useful for _other _things, Cam." "What do you mean by that?" Lucy grinned.) (From how Jonas' face turned into a steaming tomato, I was guessing he heard her).

He cupped the back of his neck sheepishly. "I thought I was doing something nice, you know, being a gentleman and all that." Jonas lowered his voice so it could only be heard by me: "And Lucy can be pretty demanding when she wants to be. It's kind of scary."

"She's a woman. They _all _can be kind of scary_." _

Jonas sighed again, but he suddenly jerked straight up. Like a soldier would do when his superior called his name. His eyes were beseeching. "Please, _please _don't tell Lizzie about this. She's a little on the jealous side."

I thought of "Lizzie". She was about as petite as Lucy, possibly a tad thinner. She had a bob of thick blond hair that fit her like a cap with big, round childlike eyes. The Southern Belle type of thing. Liz reminded me of a fair-haired, blue-eyed (and klutzy) deer. Then I tried picturing that deer on a jealous rampage. It was laughable, to say the least.

But then you had to add the fact that she was a Gallagher Girl.

I suppose Bambi could murder someone.

I grinned, "No problem, man."

Relief flooded Jonas' face and his posture looked as if I had just karate-chopped a weight heavier than an anvil on his back. He jerked his chin to the right. "Alright, so I'm guessing we leave after helping those two." His fingers started tapping against the blank, white wall and I realized immediately he was using Morse code: _We need to get to the apartment by night. Hacker _[Arnold] _found something interesting._

Simultaneously, our eyes glanced at the two girls cracking open cans. As they stirred their Tiffany blue paint, an idea stirred in my head. Striding towards them, I swiped the brush from Cammie's hand ("Spy Boy, when you steal something from me, _at least_ steal it while I'm not looking.") and dipped it into the paint. Without looking I knew Jonas had done the same and was starting on the other end of the room.

"Are all of us having dinner tonight, then?" Cammie inquired, her eyes never straying from the strokes on the wall. I thought about my plan as I gave her a side-glance. Green eyes were squinted slightly with concentration. A little pink tongue poked out of the side of her mouth. And it was two minutes into painting the wall and she still managed to get paint on the side of her face.

If she was a spy, her skills were flawless.

If she was a civilian, my skills involved a lot of paranoia.

Cammie turned her inquisitive eyes to me and repeated her question.

So I did the only thing a spy would do: I declined.

* * *

Five Things You May or May Not Know About the CIA and/or Its Missions

(A List composed by Zachary Goode)

1.) Casual Fridays, frankly, _do _exist. It's just the fact that most of our usual, fancy (or: _stick-up-your-ass uptight_) attire were specially made and rather _useful_. And also the fact that about two pairs of my black slacks would put the American Militia Armory to shame. Or the fact that one of Macey's pumps could cause a seven-story, glass-and-steel building to explode if she clicked the heels the right way. (When she swaggers down the hallways like that, everyone's just a _little_ more nervous than usual)

2.) Despite popular belief, we don't _always _get sent to some luxurious, exotic country in a five-star hotel for a mission. Nor do we get sent there with an extremely hot woman in a tight, deep v-neck leather jumpsuit (about 97% of the female agents defended their right to be in something practical, comfortable and less slutty. And the other 3% are probably the ones that helped _make _the tight leather jumpsuit.) Grant, for the most part, agreed with the 97% but turns the other way when faced with the fact that _Bex _would in said jumpsuit. Baxter didn't seem to like that; he emerged from her office with a red handprint on his face. But back to the point, sometimes, we get sent to a motel with more bugs species than the Amazon Rain Forest (Liz was torn between being disgusted and analyzing said species)

3.) They pay pretty well, but sometimes it doesn't seem to add up. (Tina Walters' resources stated that both _the _Abigail Cameron and daughter of the Director, Dana Jordan, sometimes whined about their paycheck didn't seem to match up with their workload.) Though I doubt that this was true, it's pretty difficult to get paid by the hour, when one hour you're outrunning shooting gunmen and the next you're relaxing with royalty in a giant all-you-can-eat buffet, making sure a prince isn't eating anything poisonous. So my advice is just to take the money you get.

4.) Base 11, out of all 98 bases (excluding the other 42 secretly positioned bases) had to be the most carefree base of all. Probably because of the fact that most of Base 11 was comprised of newly recruited agents. And other than those rare weeks when Director Jordan had come to his Base 11 office (yes, the fact he had 140 different offices gave most of us a headache), everyone seemed more relaxed. Base 11's polar opposite was Base 89, whom had a reputation that made concentration camps look about as tough as a book club. It only seemed fit that the strongest operatives were transferred there, where Black Out missions were an everyday task. The fact that no one knew a single name from Base 89 was proof of that. Clearance Level was just too high. It seemed even Abigail Cameron of the Cameron Legacy wasn't transferred to Base 89.

5.) (On a lighter note) The job of assigning fellow operatives wasn't the Director, but rather to Department Leaders. So somewhere in an office in Base 11, someone had pasted the names Zachary Goode, Jonas North and Arnold Lindstrom together in a document. Apparently that _someone _changed their minds.

So imagine the shock Jonas and I had when we opened the door of our Knightly Apartment to find that Arnold wasn't alone.

* * *

_**(Author's note)**_**: **And so ends this chapter, I'M SO SORRY FOR THE SHORTNESS. But writing this felt so…dragged out for me, kind of like: "exactly, diva, when are you going to _stop…_?" I know the length doesn't make up for the year-long hiatus, but I'll do my best to keep an at least 4,000 word minimum and try to update more often, hopefully every week or two or so? _But GOSH, HOW COULD I HAVE NOT UPDATED FOR A YEAR?_ I am really never gonna let that go. I've turned into those authors who neglect their readers and work and it's…wow. I suck. -.-" I'm sorry once again, but THANK YOU FOR READING, whoever is continuing this.

So, um, I guess I should go with my author's note ritual type thing?

**_Review?_** Criticize so I can improve? **Not really sure of previews anymore, what do you guys think?** And also, you may berate me as much as you want, 'cause you all really have the right too.

Oh yes! And there's a poll on my profile on: **WHICH STORY OF MINE SHOULD I UPDATE FIRST?** 'Cause that would be some useful information to know.

THE **diva** IS BACK.

* * *

**P.S:** And to the first 10 reviewers of Chapter 5: **SilverGoldsun – Night. And. Day.**, _zachy K3_, ellenfp, **Gallagher Rose**, _kiwiosity._, Anya Martinez, **2goode4u,** _GGirll_, KatieKandy, and **Katherine'TheChameleon'Jackson**

Because of the fact I think giving you a sneak peek seconds before I update a chapter is pretty dang useless, you guys will get the sneak peek for Chapter 7 automatically. This is the least I could do after all. (This ingenious idea goes to: **BELINDA [belindahuang on the site]** so feel free to shoot her a PM to tell her that she's brilliant and that her friend DIVA would be nowhere without her, thanks again Belinda!)


	7. RockClimbing

**Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns the entire Gallagher Girls, I happen to own Lucy and Arnold, and, well, another certain person in there that you have yet to meet. **

_**(Author's Note)**_: This has to be a record for me updating. I got this chapter out pretty fast—it just shot right out of my fingertips! What was long was the editing and replying to reviews and such! Hopefully I'm not jinxing myself, but I suppose it's easier because I'm finally getting into the exciting parts! WOOT!

_**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far and the awesome readers who reviewed the chapter before, it's nice to know exactly who is still reading this story now considering it hasn't been updated for such a long time, so THANK YOU, YOU AMAZING READERS & REVIEWERS! You guys are AWESOME! It's great to know that I have your support.**_

Katherine'TheChameleon'Jackson made a good point about Cammie's personality being rather different in the last chapter—I blame the long wait [so, technically, I'm blaming myself]. Thanks for pointing that out, I'm being much more careful in making sure to keep her as Cammie-like [or at least my version of her for this story] as possible!

* * *

_Replies to Anonymous Reviewers:_

lily: Thank you for reading and taking the time to review! It's nice to know that you're still reading! And also, as for your own fanfiction stories, are they Gallagher Girls? I would love to read them! :D But thank you for understanding school and everything. I'm glad you liked this chapter! Hopefully you'll like this one as well. And finally, I can say I updated rather soon, right? :D

paramorefreakkk: LOL; yes, I finally updated. Thank you for the reading and reviewing and also for the compliment. I'm glad that you liked the chapter and hopefully this chapter is soon enough!

MiniSloth: Oh! If anyone should be sorry for things being late, it should be me xD And I completely understand about being busy, so no problem! I was glad to see your review! And I'm relieved I finally got back around to updating! And I'm glad you hadn't stopped believing for this story [especially after a whole friggin' year…o_o]. Thank you for reading and taking the time to review, it always puts a smile on my face when I see your comments(: Hopefully this chapter will have more action, yes? Oh and being dethroned would be a wonderful bribe, my friend; I think it worked xD And thank you for giving input on which stories should be my priorities; that's gonna help me in the long run. Again, thanks for your reviews and for reading and just your awesomeness in general, Mini! Hope you like this chapter.

YOUUPDATED: HAHA! Yes, yes I did. I'm glad you liked this chapter and this story is in no means of being abandoned, I promise you that! It's one of my favorite stories to write for! So I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I hope you like this one as well. Thanks for taking the time to read and review!

GGFANGIRL: Oh, you'll find out who's with him in this chapter, don't worry! Thank you for taking the time to read and review! Hope you like this chapter!

spammingyoutoupdate: well, since you spammed me, here is your update! Thank for reviewing.

12345678910: Thank you for the compliments and reading and reviewing, much appreciated!

lacucaracha: don't even worry about it; your English is just fine! And thank you for reading and taking the time to review. I really respect readers who read stories that are not in their native language, so yes, your English is amazing and I'm glad you like my story.

A: Hey, thanks for the review! And luckily this is not a year late! Glad you loved the chapter, hope you love this one too. Thanks again for reading and taking the time to review!

kimkardashian: I'm glad that you thought it was goode xD And yes, not much really happened last chapter, but it sets up for THIS chapter, so I hope you'll like this one! Thanks for taking the time to review!

SodaPOP: Awwh, thanks, that's so kind of you to say! But sadly I can't answer those questions about Cammie, it'll be revealed later in the story, I promise you that! But thanks again for reading and taking the time to review!

**I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

Jonas was suspicious of Cammie. Zach was as well, but doesn't seem nearly as guarded. She and Zach actually seem to get along well. I mean, Lucy and Cam repainted their room, with the help of two operatives. Zach also explained some things about the CIA, with its many bases and such. Not much had happened, which Zach thought was quite boring. Well, you see, he won't be bored now.

Especially with that stranger barging in on his secret apartment.

Oh, did I forget to mention that? Here's a reminder:

_5.) (On a lighter note) The job of assigning fellow operatives wasn't the Director, but rather to Department Leaders. So somewhere in an office in Base 11, someone had pasted the names Zachary Goode, Jonas North and Arnold Lindstrom together in a document. Apparently that __someone __changed their minds._

_So imagine the shock Jonas and I had when we opened the door of our Knightly Apartment to find that Arnold wasn't alone._

Seems like the mission is slowly speeding up, eh?

* * *

M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:

_**Black Out**_ – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.

_Level A _– Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.

**Level B **– Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months

Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months

_Level D _– Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.

**Level E **– Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Rock-Climbing**

"_Innocent 'til proven guilty doesn't work in the lives of spies because if they really are guilty, well, you may not live long enough to regret deeming them innocent." –Joe Solomon_

Location: Room 357 of Knightly Apartments,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Saturday, September 9th Time: 11:42 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

There was only so much a specially trained agent could register at one moment without getting killed.

It was dark as hell.

The only lights were the dimmed, glowing lines that filtered through the window blinds.

And a black, unknown shadow was standing next to a fellow operative, who was given strict orders to never let anyone besides Jonas and myself into the apartment.

Before anyone could even blink, my leg swept the intruder from beneath him. I made a grab for his arm, but grasped nothing but air and I saw the shadow of my target plant itself to the ground. He flipped himself backwards like a gymnast, nearly kicking Arnold in his shocked, freckled face with his combat boot. The guy in black faced me but Jonas locked his right arm around the guy's neck, bending him over in a headlock. The enemy lashed around like a caged animal.

Arnold's timid, but urgent voice whispered through the dark. "You guys—"

I glanced over at him and a millisecond later, I heard fabric ripping. My eyes snapped back, to see the enemy gripping the ruined, front collar of Jonas' shirt and his body being flung over the intruder's head and smashing harshly into the glass-and-wood coffee table. Glass shattered and the table exploded in a shower of it. I heard something akin to a surprised yell and saw Arnold's redhead speeding towards Jonas' side.

He was still.

It felt like a hand formed from ice clamped around my throat.

A moment passed. He still didn't move.

_Damn it!_

Before he could get away, my fist collided to the side of his face, sending him sprawling backwards. His hand went immediately to his face, fingers probing around for injuries_. Served the goddamned bastard right!_ I glared, seeing red. I was just about to roundhouse kick him at the base of his skull, ready to kill, before I felt a weight slam into my left side. My back met the wooden floor. Pain exploded from the small of my back up my spine, nearing my shoulders. _Fucking glass_.

"Wait! You guys! _Stop it! Just STOP IT! WE'RE ON THE SAME GODDAMNED SIDE!_"

It was Arnold. I carefully pulled my head up, glad not to have any glass in it, and squinted through the dark at him. He could have been a professional football player with that tackle, I thought dazedly, trying to ignore the stinging burn spreading its way around my back.

The lights of the room flashed on so suddenly, colorful dots danced across my vision. The black figure walked his way towards me, his combat boots thumping heavily against the floor.

He stopped by my side, the thump of combat boots right next to my ear, sounding with finality. The figure bent forward at the hip, close enough so both of our faces were visible to each other but far enough to be deemed appropriate. My eyes widened.

"I see. So _you're _Zach Goode. Nice to finally meet you. I've been assigned this mission as well. My name is Kim Lee."

My head thumped back onto the floor, not caring of the glass.

Well, _hell._

I felt like a sick bastard.

I _hit_ a friggin' _girl_.

* * *

Location: Room 357 of Knightly Apartments,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Sunday, September 10th Time: 12:04 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"You didn't really kill him, right?" I asked, kneeling beside an unconscious Jonas. With the collar of his shirt torn, half of his shirt was a gaping hole. A small, rectangular patch of skin, a little below his throat, was rather pink from the fact we had to rip off an advanced Napotine patch [worst than a band-aid, to the point where if not taken off properly or if it's on for an extended amount of time, it _melts _in your skin and the only way to get them out is through a complex procedure that I'd rather not get into].

Kim rolled her dark brown eyes exasperatingly and continued to blot the blood from Jonas' shoulder. "If I did, do you think I would be trying to stop the bleeding?"

"You're still mad about us attacking you, aren't you?"

"Well, _of course!_" She exclaimed, glaring at me and practically bared her teeth. I stared back, bored. A 5'3" girl two years younger than me didn't frighten me in the least. "First, you try to assassinate me like some type of common criminal—insulting my honor as a CIA agent. And _then, _you insult my femininity by thinking I was a _man!_—"

"In my defense, it was dark; you're in black, baggy clothes—"

"Oh, so just because I wasn't in some kind of degrading cat suit, you automatically think I'm a man? That is so _sexist_!" Kim crossed her arms over her chest, her movements practically screaming: _You're so infuriating that if we weren't on the same team, I would have stabbed you by now! _

Yeah, well, I was a bit too tired to care.

"You guys!" Arnold popped out of the bathroom, his arms full of gauze and other medical supplies. "We should be working together, I mean, we're on the same team." He sat down beside the girl—who was giving me the cold shoulder [ooh. Terrifying.]—and applied antibiotics to my friend's cuts. "So we should get to know each other." Arnold faced Kim, "Zach and I were trained at Blackthorne and I can assume you were trained at Gallagher?"

Kim practically puffed up with pride like a bird [who happened to look like a mugger in her baggy sweat pants and shirt] and grinned for the first time that night: "Yes. That's right."

"Hey, Zach, mind passing me those butterfly band-aids behind you—so what's your field of specialty Kim—_holy crap_! Zach! You're _bleeding_!"

I tossed him the small box of band-aids and shrugged; Jonas was, after all, in worse shape than I was. At the sight of his worried eyes, frantically babbling about getting more medical supplies [when, truly, he grabbed enough medication to put a hospital to shame] I softened just a bit. The boy was like that small little brother I always wanted. Glancing over at Kim's neutral stare, but at the nasty purple, blue and black bruise blooming on her left cheek, I felt the guilt of punching her fill me once again. Yes. I was an agent trained to kill. But I didn't exactly take pride and beating the crap out of girls. She caught me staring and gave a little _humph! _and turned back to Jonas.

Moment of guilt gone. She was like that bratty little sister I never wanted.

I frowned. "Relax, I'll go treat it myself, keep trying to get Jonas to come to, alright?"

He bobbed his fiery little head and asked Kim to help stitch back 'one of the greatest minds of our generation.' Kim hesitantly complied, her expression confused.

I suppose some things just don't change under _any_ circumstance.

* * *

I lifted the white shirt carefully off, glancing at the back of it. Large dots of blood had blossomed and were starting to crust over. From the amount of glistening pieces of glass on the shirt, I could gladly say that none of it was lodged into my back. I took a deep breath and blocked out as much as the sting in my back was possible.

I shut my eyes warily; it was going to be one long night.

* * *

Location: Northern Courtyard,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Monday, September 11th Time: 3:14 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Are you _sure _you're okay?" Cammie asked; her viridian eyes were concerned and her forehead puckered with worry. It reminded me of the time back at her apartment. We were walking towards our Literature class across campus. I grinned off her worry when she first asked, but she wasn't letting up

I rolled my eyes and smiled crookedly: "You've been asking me that since lunch, Cam. The answer is still yes."

She looked down, but I had already seen her face go pink, and mumbled: "I was just making sure."

"I'm fine." I reassured her. "Falling down the stairs isn't all that bad." It wasn't necessarily the best cover story known to man, but it seemed to work. Especially since Brendan Hudson had clapped me on the back and bystanders saw me stumble. Jonas panicked. Thus, I, Zachary White, fell down the stairs.

Thanks a lot, Jonas.

"Promise?" Her voice sounded so much like a kid, I laughed.

I smirked down at her, but I conjured the most sincere voice I could at the sight of her innocently stubborn expression: "I promise." We stepped into the hallways, I glanced around. Room T763. "You shouldn't worry so much about me." I said absentmindedly.

Before Cammie pointed towards a door further into the hall, she gave me a weird look, as if my head had just turned into alien. "Well, why shouldn't I? I'd be worried if _any_ of my friends fell down the stairs—you're no different."

I made no comment, but I felt the corner of my lip rise. That wasn't something you heard every day. Then again, it could have been with Cammie. Her concern was pretty touching [or at least more sincere than Lucy's response: "Whoa, are you okay? Really? Sounds good. Well, you can still go rock-climbing tomorrow night, right? You know, since you're fine."] Cammie's psychiatrist voice had come back to scold Lucy. I smiled.

And as soon as we entered Room T763, it dropped down into a heavy scowl.

"Kim? What are you doing here?"

Said girl was swinging her combat boots to and fro, sitting on the edge of a beige desk in the small room. Her spiky black hair was long with a bright purple streak in it. Kim's almond shaped eyes were lined with black and purple. With her black skinny jeans and dark band t-shirt; she made the stereotypical punk girl.

She looked at me and scowled, lifting a crumpled piece of paper and peering at it. "Jonas isn't here, is he? Figures he'd give me the wrong room number." Kim drawled.

The dirty-blonde didn't even look fazed by Kim's appearance. Cammie tilted her head to the side, contemplating: "He has Literature at this time too, but I think he's a few doors down in Professor Bates' class."

Kim glanced at her, and smiled politely, "Thanks, and you are?"

Cammie smiled and held her hand out to shake. "Cammie Morgan, nice to meet you Kim."

"Likewise." Kim said, hopping off the desk and taking her hand. "Jonas is my cousin. I'm here to visit him."

"Oh! That's nice, are you new around here?" Kim nodded. "We could all hang out sometime, show you around," Cammie replied sincerely, voice warm and smooth. "We're actually planning on going rock-climbing Tuesday night, want to come with?"

On the outside, I was completely indifferent. Inwardly, I thought this was like watching a hungry vulture converse with a defenseless little bunny.

"Hey, Cam! Mind if I could borrow some of your notes on _MacBeth_?" a voice yelled. Cammie nodded, excusing herself and walked away. My gaze snaked back to Kim.

"Bruise healed up already? Did the CIA ship anything for you?"

Kim rolled her eyes at me: "It's called make-up, dumbass."

"It's not healthy to keep grudges." She looked like she wanted to murder me right then and there, her long nails tapping incessantly on the desk. I rolled my eyes right back at her, my arms folded across my chest as I leaned against a desk. "As you can see, Jonas isn't here, so you can leave."

"I can, but that doesn't mean I will just yet." Kim glared. The girl acted like I insulted her by just _breathing. _She glanced over my shoulder and I followed her gaze to see Cammie chatting amicably with another girl. "She actually seems genuinely nice; I might even _want_ to hang out with you guys."

I ignored the last part. "Why are you here?"

"Looking for my cousin, or can you not hear?" I listened to her tapping. Morse code: _bugged the room, keep your eyes open for possible suspects. _

"I see." I said. Kim shrugged.

"Hey, sorry about that—" We both looked back to spot Cammie back at our side. "—so, Kim would you like to join us? It'll fun." Cam persuaded a smile still on her face.

Kim offered her a friendly grin in return and said she'd think about it. Seeing the familiar salt-and-pepper hair of Mr. Edwards pop in the doorway, Kim swooped out of the room [I'd say like a vulture, but the girl would've read my mind and attacked me somehow], not before bumping into our teacher [of course, planting a bug on his navy sweater vest] and bolting out the door.

Taking our seats, Cammie whispered, a curious light in her jewel eyes. "You never told me Jonas' cousin was in town."

"It was kind of a surprise visit," I replied as Edwards told us to take out our copies of _MacBeth_. "You see, she and I don't get along too well."

"I thought she was nice." Cammie thought everyone was nice; she was as trustingly naïve as a kindergartner, I told her this. "That's not true; I honestly think she's nice."

"Right."

Cammie frowned, simultaneously scribbling something into her notebook. "I really think she is!"

"So you missed the whole gothic-emo-attitude thing she had going there?" I asked skeptically.

As Edwards' back turned to the whiteboard, his green marker making squiggles that could be barely read, Cammie slapped me lightly on the arm. Her eyes narrowed at me, "Don't be so judgmental! After all, I could've thought you were a drunken axe murderer back in Oxen Hill when I saw you passed out outside that club. And now look, we're friends."

_Probably would've been wise compared to her choice of dragging me home with her, _I thought silently. I still hadn't given up my opinion of the fact what she did was just pure idiocy. Had it been someone else, she could have been raped—murdered, _hell_, both could have happened. But I didn't like to think about. Instead, I said, "I thought we had the whole axe murderer thing behind us; I'm a spy, remember? The one who gets more girls than James Bond?"

Cammie rolled her eyes, but her lips were pressed together to keep a laugh from coming out. I smirked, writing a few notes of the theme of _MacBeth _and continued. "And as a spy, I can say professionally, that Kim is not classified as _nice._"

"Well I don't think I believe in your choice, Spy Boy. I think she _is_ nice, and I think you two could get along if _you _admit she's nice too."

Before I could tell her about how the world would implode and cave in on itself if I ever said that aloud [much less to Kim's face], Edwards popped up before our desks. You see, Edwards was an eccentric teacher, the one who never truly punished a student.

But, of course, he was a teacher and I had a cover to uphold, so when he asked me what Cammie and I were talking about, instead of telling him about Kim the Vulture, I lied my ass off, "We were discussing how your tie looks great on you."

Chuckles and snickers scattered the room and Edwards grinned, "Why, thank you." He turned his grey eyes to Cammie. "But is Zach telling the truth, Cameron?"

The mute dirty blonde nodded. Edwards smiled lightly: "Thanks for the effort Zach, but we all know how you weren't talking about my fashion sense."

"But what if I was actually talking about your tie?"

Edwards grinned; an unknown spark in his eye, his hand patted my shoulder: "Then your partner in crime wouldn't be blushing right now, would she?"

I glanced at the pink faced Cam who seemed quite fascinated with her mechanical pencil with her long hair hanging over her face. I smiled a little. It was like watching a tiny girl get caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Edwards walked back up to the class and began telling us of the current tragedy that Shakespeare had written.

It was only until later, alone in the dorms, when I had been undressing that I found the small strip of paper hidden snugly underneath the collar of my leather jacket. As opposed to the squiggly penmanship I was used to seeing in green on the Lit Class whiteboard, I saw neat, printing that had the lowercase letters being uppercase instead:

YOUR LYING COULD BE A BIT MORE BELIEVABLE IF YOU CAN KEEP YOUR PUPILS FROM DILATING. KEEP THAT IN MIND.

Frankly speaking, I practically assaulted Jonas to get some research done.

* * *

Location: Room 357 of Knightly Apartments,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Tuesday, September 12th Time: 4:21 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

I woke up that morning the second I was body slammed by a certain, redhead NSA member right out of my bed. The key phrase here is that I _woke up_, that definitely didn't mean I was about to _stand up_. The carpet seemed so much more appealing now than it did about three seconds ago.

"You've attacked me twice, Arnold," I mumbled, not even bothering to open my eyes. "Should I be expecting this from now on?"

I felt the weight on my stomach lessen, knowing he jumped up. I cracked a lid open, through the slits of the window blinds, it was still rather dark outside. The sheets that toppled over with me were untangled from my legs by Arnold and I warily ran a hand down my face.

He grasped my wrist and yanked me up [using all his weight possible like he was lugging up a tree by a rope; couldn't really blame him, these muscles weren't light]. "We found him! _We found him!_"

Jolting myself awake, I stalked out the doorway, down the hall and straight away into Jonas' room, the redheaded teen hot on my heels. Jonas' room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp [with the help of his laptop screen] and despite his meticulous desk and organized closets, his dark hair looked like it had exploded sometime during the night and his bed sheets were as wrinkled and rumpled as his sleepwear.

I glanced over at the black bean bag in the corner of the room. Compared to the young, Asian teen, Jonas looked normal. Kim, however, looked dead [if it weren't for the fact she was snoring like rolling thunder, I would have probably assumed that she actually _was_ dead]. She was slumped over the bean bag on her belly, had she been in a swimming pool, I would have assumed she had drowned.

Naturally, I ignored her and stepped towards Jonas and his laptop.

Jonas slid the screen towards me as I sat down on the floor. My eye scanned the profile that had shown up. I skimmed past the personal information [although I learned his full name was Maxwell Elijah Edwards, he was born on the 7th of February, and that he was allergic to peanuts and also had been treated for eleven bullet wounds. At once.]. Then I found it.

…_**Edwards had asked to withdraw his standing as a CIA operative. With much work and the use of REM cycle supplements [commonly referred to as Memory Loss Tea], Edwards was extracted from Base 32 at the age of twenty-four…**_

I stared. "He's a retired CIA agent by choice—"

"Keep reading." Jonas commanded. I complied, my eyes glued onto the glowing screen.

…_**approximately in 2007, an agent had confirmed the belief that Edwards had gained some of his memories of the CIA, but has not been taken in due to his clean record of successful Level A and Black Out missions. Because of this, the head of the CIA, Director Jordan, had ordered Edwards to left alone, solely under surveillance and was to only be intervened by suspicious activity…**_

"So he's a retired CIA agent by choice, who has his memories." I said. Jonas nodded somberly.

A voice across the room spoke up, "It seems we have someone to keep track off now."

My eyes traveled towards Kim, who was finally sitting up properly. Arnold smiled at her, "Good thinking when you bugged the guy."

After grinning at Arnold and thanking him for the compliment, she raised her brows at me: "What're _you_ looking at, Zachary?"

I decided not to tell her that her hair looked like it was electrocuted road kill and shrugged disinterestedly.

I shut the laptop closed and handed it back towards Jonas, who was busy explaining the fact that the reason Edwards was incredibly hard to find was because retired operatives were one of the most well hidden profiles to hack. They weren't in a database or listing at all, but rather standing alone as a single, highly protected file. Even as the good guys, the profiles were still clandestine even to us ['til now].

Thinking back to my timetable, I mentally checked the next Literature session I had.

A lecture. On Thursday afternoon—3:30.

We had all decided to get the needed sleep we had been lacking in. Jonas didn't need to be told twice and promptly fell like a tree onto his rumpled bed. Kim decided bean bag chairs had absolutely no benefits for her back and went towards her own room, dragging a half-conscious Arnold with her.

As I went back to my own bed, I couldn't help pondering something.

Was it terrible that though I had just been compromised by our top murdering suspect, that all I could really think about was a flushing dirty blonde girl a floor above me and whether she was safe or not?

* * *

Location: Hangar 18

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Tuesday, September 12th Time: 8:15 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

Hangar 18 was the best choice for a spacious rock climbing gym; it was only about six miles from Harvard College, considering someone didn't want to break Adams House's curfew. And surprisingly, that someone wasn't Jonas.

["Come on, Cam! Let loose a little!" "But Lucy, I've got a Child Psychology test tomorrow morning; I still need to review some things!"].

It wasn't much a debate anyways, considering Lucy decided that she didn't want to climb anymore [probably why she was in a frilly blue dress, rather than a shirt and shorts]. I didn't think I was the only one who thought Lucy's intentions of coming were for the sole purpose of exercise [unless you counted 'excessive eyelash fluttering' as some type of workout]. But the way she was trying to help Jonas with his harness, and the way he was hobbling away from her with the harness making a web around his feet, I didn't think she had much of a chance.

I gulped down a few sips of Gatorade, eyes following the two black and green spots making their way up the wall. Cammie and Kim were roughly going at the same pace, but shockingly enough Cammie was pulling ahead. I smirked, feeling a foreign swell of pride—the girl was beating a highly trained CIA agent in a rock-climbing race [although I had a feeling Kim was holding back a bit to keep her cover].

It was at that moment when Cammie was nearly to the top of the coppery wall that I heard the scream.

The bloodcurdling, watery scream that made me want to shudder. It wasn't like a horror film though, it didn't stop right away. It just kept going on and on _and on_ until I felt sick, until finally an alarm finally drowned it out.

My eyes dazedly met the sight of Kim gripping Cammie's ankle and yanking frantically at the dirty blonde.

Cammie was as animated as a corpse. Her face was pale even from this distance and was facing the right side of the gym as the startled chatter of the other climbers and spectators finally settled in my ears. Lucy was clutching the back of Jonas' shirt fearfully, her eyes so wide they were nearly popping out of her head.

The lights were flickering on and off. On the far end of the room, the lights embedded into the ceiling spewed sparks as it died.

The volume steadily rose in panic.

The resounding crackle of a nearby gunshot vibrated through the echoing gym.

Civilians started screaming.

Without another thought, I bounded towards the rock climbing wall.

"Zach!" I heard Jonas bellow from behind me. I gripped the hand holds and scaled up the wall, recalling the actual mountain climbing that was required back at Blackthorne. The alarm was still ringing in the background, people were panicking and pushing and shoving to get towards the exits. My eyes glanced above me, the distance between the two girls and me shrinking by the second. With a final lunge forward, I positioned myself between Kim and Cammie.

"_Kim!_ Why the hell are you two still up here? Get down there!"

Her dark eyes were darting from me to Cammie desperately, "Cammie won't let go!"

Switching my footing, I turned to Cammie, her face still turned towards the other side of the gym. I shot Kim a glance to get on the ground with Jonas and Lucy. After nodding, the girl pushed herself against the wall, her harness steadily reeling back down.

My hand touched her tense shoulder. "Cammie. We have to get down now."

No response.

I frowned, and my eyes glanced at the death grip on the hand hold. "Cam," I said softly, hoping to coax her. "What's the matter?"

The question had to be the most ludicrous thing to say in that situation, but I thought passed that and focused on the girl beside me.

Cammie almost didn't reply for a moment, but then her head turned towards me. I wasn't sure if her eyes were darkened from the lightening or if it was just dark through comparison to her sickly pale skin. Her lips moved a bit, but the noise was lost in the shrill alarm. I leaned closer to her until I was nearly right next to her mouth—what had she said?

She breathed in, trying to calm herself down, and repeated what she had said. "They killed her."

My eyes widened from being alert, rather than from surprise. A scream, the lights failing, and a gunshot. _It didn't take a genius to figure it out_, I thought bitterly.

"Who did Cam?" I asked, trying to keep the interrogative edge out of my voice. I thought back to Cammie's psychiatrist tone and tried to mimic it.

She pointed towards the direction she was facing in. It was dark, due to the lights slowly flickering out, but what I saw had me winding my arm tightly around Cammie's waist in mere seconds and nearly free falling from the top, the harness hissing at the speed and weight of both of us.

"Zach?" Looking at Jonas, I knew we had only a few options in this situation and it was between finding the first solid lead of the murderer, and upholding our cover. I watched as Lucy barreled herself at Cammie and, with some shock, at Lucy's shaking frame. Cammie didn't look much better; she looked like the slightest breeze would've knocked her over, but she smiled bravely and hugged the brunette comfortingly, like an older sister.

My mind was made up.

I turned to stare at Kim and Jonas determinedly, "Let's go."

* * *

Location: Adams House

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Tuesday, September 12th Time: 8:46 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Bethany Monroe?"

Cammie nodded slightly, her eyes still a dark, somber green. By the time we got back to school, news had already spread around like a wildfire. Lucy looked like she wanted to faint when she heard all the chatter of the murder and mumbled about going to sleep early. Kim said she had to get to the hotel she was staying at [translation: she was going to fill Arnold in on the newest murder]. Jonas said he'd go back to the room to relax and he'd see me later.

So that left Cammie and me sitting on one of the black leather couches of the spacious lounge of the Adams House. Talking filled the air as others spoke about what had transpired nearly half an hour ago. The girl who had been shot outside of Hangar 18 was a junior student who was studying at Harvard to become an attorney.

"She and I weren't really close, but she was always so nice to me, so I figured we were at least friends." Cammie said, glancing at me. "We actually had some things in common, like how we separated M&M's by color and, y'know, ate them in rainbow order—don't look at me like that, a lot of people do it!" she defended and I smirked, urging her to go on. "Anyway, we had the same tastes in books—none of the mushy, lovey-dovey, romance novels, but things like mysteries and adventure; we both loved Ally Carter books. We even shared a birthday."

She looked so crestfallen; I thought she was going to cry for a second. I could handle being under the gaze of an assassin with a sniper and could fight off several guys who were triple my size with nothing but a plastic spoon as a weapon, but the moment a girl's eyes turned glassy I was about as useful as Jonas was when he was drunk [and he was the poster boy for lightweights everywhere].

Cammie glanced at my face for a moment and a small smile pulled at her lips warily: "You don't have to worry; I'm not going to start sobbing uncontrollably."

"I didn't think you were going to cry."I lied.

Cammie rolled her eyes. "So the fact that you looked at me like I was some kind of atomic bomb preparing to explode wasn't because of that? Girls aren't as emotionally unstable as most people think. Or at least, not as much as reality TV portrays us to be."

"I didn't say that." I pointed out; inwardly glad she seemed to be lightening up. Looking at Cammie and her bruised eyes was like seeing a puppy being hopelessly trampled on.

A moment later, the ornate and glossed wooden door trembled from pounding and in a second, it burst open to reveal two men in navy, police uniforms, the cool September air swirling in from behind them. My sense sharpened.

"Alright," the cop with the blond curly hair started, "all of you. I'd like you to all head up to your dorm rooms and stay there for the rest of the night—" His speech was cut short from the disgruntled and confused exclamations of the rest of Adams House. He looked rather annoyed, but spoke in a booming voice over the noise: "An investigation is underway. If you refuse to cooperate with a police officer, we have the right to take any of you in for insubordination. So please head back up to your respective dorm rooms."

The grunts from the students lessened a considerable amount somewhere between the words: "take any of you" and "insubordination." Strings of students filed up the two staircases, an occasional 'Bethany Monroe' heard floating around.

Cammie hopped up to follow the stream. I stood slowly; my eyes staring at the two cops—bunch of CIA wannabes, if you asked me, but useful wannabes, nonetheless. The policeman with coffee black skin was clutching a manila folder with a green pocket folder as well.

_Jackpot, _I thought.

"What're you looking at, son?" The blond cop asked me, crooked nose lifted haughtily in the air. Like he was my superior. As if the fact that he had a gun made him better than me [I doubt _his _gun had poisoned bullets that paralyzed victims faster than a cobra].

I raised a brow and held my hands up in mock-surrender, and slowly made my way upstairs. I didn't need to turn around to know that two pairs of eyes were glaring at me. As I ascended towards the next floor I heard the harsh thumping against the flooring of the lounge—it sounded like soldiers marching in boot camp.

_This place just gets homier and homier every day, didn't it? _

* * *

Location: Eliot House,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Wednesday, September 13th Time: 1:21 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"I think I'll turn nocturnal by the end of this assignment. I either get three hours of sleep or I miss my lectures in the morning."

A smile tugged at my lips. The thing Jonas North loved the most in this world, after his _beloved, brilliant Lizzie_, was sleep. Now. I wasn't sure about Jonas, but I wondered how he would handle his love of sleep and his love of Liz put together, so I asked him.

The boy was two and a half miles away from me, back in Adams House, and I knew without a shadow of doubt in my mind that he was blushing to his roots.

The police officers had set up stations in each of the Nine River Houses at Harvard, including Eliot House, the house where the African American man with his blond, irritating sidekick was positioned to work [you got to love the tracker gum Jonas invented—it was minty, worked wonderfully with my cell phone, and I got the chance to make the blond douche of a cop step in it. The look on his crooked face made my night, alright].

I picked the lock of the black door in seconds and slipped through. Through the night vision contacts, I gazed around the room in a glaze of antifreeze green. The layout differed from Adams House from only the fact that because Adams House was the oldest, the classy architecture was practically antique while Eliot House revamped everything. It was so redone I was surprised I didn't seem one of those flat screens in front of the fireplace with a digital clip of crackling fire.

Moving towards the office [each House had one], I picked the lock of the blue metal cabinet. Sliding it open gently, I scanned through the alphabetized folders and files.

I heard the clack of a shoe and went ramrod still.

It was silent for a few seconds; my hand gently pressed a small scanner in my comms unit, letting Jonas know that I wasn't alone.

A small weight left my chest. Jonas knew there was a threat. He knew I was here. But I swept the selfish thoughts aside with self-loathing. I didn't need to endanger him. I could handle it—

At that very moment, a heavy hand clamped down onto my mouth and another gripped my wrist tighter than a vise, from behind. I lunged forward, away from the offender and the hand released my mouth, only to pull the collar of my shirt back and slap me lightly there.

My vision went fuzzy, which was disconcerting because of the fact everything was green still.

My eyelashes felt like they were each individual anvils, sagging down a few times warily.

The cold floor raced up to meet my cheek and I faintly heard a voice buzzing in my ear, but it was garbled, as if I were underwater.

My eyes relented in their stubborn battle and fell closed.

And everything stopped.

* * *

_**(Author's Note)**_: Longest Chapter of the Story So Far! 15 pages on Word, single-spaced, 11 font size. Yeah! And written in just a few days! Hallelujah!(:

**Side note: **Did people on here watch the _Women's World Cup Finals?_ Japan won. Sigh. But in a way, I'm glad they have something to cheer about, they really deserve some happy news after the tragic year they've had to endear. But even so, I had been _really, really, really_ hoping the U.S. had won. More sighs.

I'm sorry if Cammie seemed OOC, however, as a civilian, how would you feel if you saw a girl that you were kind of friends with get brutally murdered? I would be pretty terrified if you asked me. But I am easily frightened so…hmm.

Questions that I have for you guys:

**What did you guys think of Kim Lee? **[She had a pretty non-descriptive personality in the series…so I gave her one].

_**Who do you think attacked Zach at the end? **_And **what did you guys think of the chapter in general?**

Answering these in a review would be pretty helpful; it'll help me figure out how to write the next chapter.

**Question:** Are there any _**Clique fans**_ reading this? Because I've been dying to write a Clique story. I have two in mind actually, but I've only read one of the books, **_anyone on here willing to help me? Review or PM me if you're willing! It'd be appreciated!_**

*******So_: I've decided to continue giving out Previews, so first…uh, _**TWELVE reviewers **(if I even get that much)_ will get a sneak peek of Chapter 8_.*******

**Review please?**

-diva


	8. Files

**Disclaimer: **Ally Carter owns all the wonderful characters of the Gallagher Girls series, I, however own: Lucy, Arnold, Carol, Andy, Mark Tanner…and you guys don't know half of the people I've listed. Yet. **Maxwell Edwards** is actually a Gallagher Girls character, back in the first book!

_**(Author's Note)**_**: **Hey you guys! See? I'm updating! I'm so proud of myself [you gotta admit, compared to a year, less than three weeks is pretty fast for me]. **Thanks** again for the wonderful feedback; you all are so kind and supportive and everything awesome! Thank you all so much! It's 'cause of your support that writing is even easier for me!

* * *

_Replies to Anonymous Reviewers: _

lily: hey again! Thanks for always reading and reviewing my story! And I write reviews as I read along as well. I hope you'll like this chapter! As for Kim's character, I was reading my story and I kind of realized almost everyone Zach meets likes him somehow. Thus, a hardcore girl who hates his guts was born. xD Anyways, I hope this chapter was updated fast enough and again, thank you so much for your reviews and support! It means a lot!

MiniSloth: Yes! I am dethroned :D so happy to know that! But I'm glad you liked the action; and your compliments are making me blush! xD But thank you for reading and reviewing and all your awesome support. As for your question: yup, Cam witnessed it…and a little something more. And that's really perceptive! This chapter is gonna show Cam being interrogated by the police (: You're the only one who seemed to catch that, NICE! Thanks again for reviewing!

Heart2Heart: Thanks for taking the time to read and review this! And _very _good point about the whole Kim and Cammie issue. I guess you'll just have to find out about her by reading more, right? But good job at finding that. Anyways, thanks again! Hope you like this chapter!

paramorefreakkk: Thanks for your review! Hopefully this is a quick update as well! And you're another person who saw the Kim-Cammie-Gallagher connection! Congrats! You'll just have to think of what/who Cammie is on your own until I update the chapter that reveals everything else. Anyways, thanks again for the review and hope you like this chapter!

kimkardashian: Hey! Thanks for reading and reviewing! And I'm glad you liked the action, it was fun to write! And no, Kim doesn't like Zach that much, does she? LOL. I hope you like this chapter as much as the last! Thanks again for your feedback!

Mrs. FutureGoodeAndHale: Thank you! I love long chapters too when I read something, so I figured if I love it, I should write it, right? [thus, all my stories are pretty much in Zach's POV]. OH! And I'm glad you like A Heist With A Spy too, I'll probably update that fic next. Thanks again!

PureNorwegianAwesomeness: Thanks for the major compliments and reading and reviewing my story! And the whole deal on Kim's character was kind of a test of waters, because I wanted to add different personalities out there like in real life. And I completely and utterly agree with you! I think everyone practically forgot that Josh was Cammie's first boyfriend and was incredibly sweet! I don't really like it when he's portrayed as evil, either. Trust me, this will DEFINITELY not be one of those stories. I'll write my Clique stories once I'm done with most of my other major stories. And don't even worry about long reviews, I actually LOVE them, like how some people like long chapters. Anyways, hope you like this story and thanks again!

SodaPOP: You're welcome, I love replying to reviews and try to as much as possible. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I'm really glad you liked the chapter so much and here is your update! I hope you like it!

kaitlyn: Thanks for your feedback! I really hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Nice to know that you'd read my Clique story!(: And thanks again for the review(s)!

GGFANGIRL: I'm glad the update was fast enough! I hope you'll like this one and thank you for reading and reviewing my story! And as for the Massington story, I might do that pairing, but I always like love triangles and the Clique is the perfect fandom for that to me. So it might be Cassington! xD Anyways, thanks again for the review!

tmz: Hey, thanks for reviewing and telling me what you thought! And yeah, I can see your point. But I'm glad you liked it and don't worry about asking about Cammie, a lot of people do, however I can't really tell you anything, 'cause my story would be less interesting then, if you ask me. It's a mystery! Anyways, thanks so much for your kind review and I hope you enjoy reading this!

bianca: Hey! You'll learn about what happened to Bethany in a bit! But thanks for reading and reviewing! I hope you like this chapter as well! Again, thanks for the supportive feedback!

**HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THE CHAPTER!**

* * *

Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

Enter: Kim Lee—punk rock CIA agent who fights with Zach like a cat whose tail was stomped on by a dog [in this case, Zach]. Then enter: Maxwell Edwards—a former CIA agent who had pulled himself out and recovered his lost memory of his missions.

As this all goes down, Cammie invites Zach, Lucy, Kim, and Jonas for a rock-climbing outing. So of course, things go horribly wrong when a girl is brutally murdered right outside the building—and Cammie and Zach saw it all through a window. The girl who is murdered turns out to be another student at Harvard College—Bethany Monroe. The police come to the school to investigate, as Zach and his team tries to skirt around them.

Zach breached Eliot House in hopes to find Bethany Monroe's file. And was knocked by an unknown figure. And now? He's finally awake.

* * *

M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:

_**Black Out**_ – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.

_Level A _– Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.

**Level B **– Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months

Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months

_Level D _– Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.

**Level E **– Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Files**

"_If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things." –Edward Townsend_

Location: Unknown

Date: Wednesday, September 13th Time: 8:32 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

I was feeling nostalgic.

I could have sworn I hadn't felt that freaking great since the day I had awoken with the world's largest hangover [the one where I woke up half-naked with a fully naked Grant draped across with room with only a lampshade to cover him]. This time, I wasn't half-naked and there was no [Thank God] naked Grant.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, and my eyes slowly lifted themselves open—

—And I shot up in pain, cussing so loudly in Tagalog that somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought half the population of the Philippines had heard me. Night vision contacts and the morning light didn't mix very well—it was like staring straight into stadium lights you would find in a football field.

A pale blue fleece blanket fell from my torso, pooling around my waist I sat up, taking the night vision contacts carefully one with one hand as the other shielded my eyes from the light. Vaguely noticing that my shoes were gone, I looked down at my clothes: jeans and a black t-shirt. Same things as yesterday. Blinking rapidly, I glanced at my surroundings—everything from the bed with navy sheets I was occupying to the closed mahogany door to light beige walls.

Waking up in an unknown bed wasn't completely unusual for me.

But that was a different story for a different day [and most likely a different and older audience].

Slowly, through the haze my mind was thrown into, I tried to comprehend everything, my hand closing over and crushing the night vision contacts—

My eyes widened and I rolled out of the bed, the rumpled blanket left behind.

_The contacts. _

_Eliot House. _

_Bethany Monroe's murder. _

_The files._

My hand flew to my right ear, ready to contact Jonas. _I'm alive, why—why hadn't they killed me yet? Did they want to interrogate? _I thought speedily.

I froze; my comms unit was gone.

"Good morning."

My head jerked towards the, now, opened door. That, of course, did nothing to assist my devastatingly throbbing temples. My arms stiffened into a fighting stance, my eyes sharp for any piece of detail that I would need. I knew I was as emotionless as a statue, that I was able to mask my shock, but truly, I was actually genuinely surprised.

"Young man, are you alright?"

I cautiously lowered my arms, my eyes warily glancing at the woman. She was about half a head shorter than I was; a plain lilac shirt with long sleeves and black dress pants clad her somewhat hefty body [at least, she didn't _look_ like she could hide any explosives in her clothes]. Short copper colored hair hung from her head and her brown eyes were glancing at me with concern [as if I wasn't able to roundhouse kick her freckled face].

I stared and questioned brusquely. "Who are you?"

She didn't seem fazed and smile warmly at me, despite my cold eyes. "I'm Carol, dear. And you would be Zach, correct?"

I didn't respond, just continuing my icy stare. A silence filled the room like fast and high-rising water. The woman, Carol, apparently, started to fidget a bit with her small pale hands uncomfortably—_she's nervous?_ I thought, astounded. _I'm the one who was knocked out in the middle of the night and dragged here. And she's the one who's uncomfortable?_

It was sounding too familiar with the incident with Cammie, who, although I had my doubts and might actually like [again, another story for another time], was still a person of interest concerning the operation.

"Ah! _Zach! _You're finally up!"

My eyes didn't widen. I didn't gape astonishingly. I gave absolutely no indication of having been surprised. I, myself, had already come to a conclusion of my own the second I had woken up [and practically blinded myself with night-vision contacts]. So the following should have made sense to me.

But the thing is. I didn't.

Edwards popped out from the hallway with a happy grin, throwing an arm around Carol's waist and leaning down to give her a tender kiss on the cheek. Carol lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled like a giddy schoolgirl.

I'd seen Liz test a possible truth serum that could be used for interrogation [which, to save time, involved a rolling pin that had a laser in the handle, a certain Liz Sutton acting like an unbelievably angry drunk one second and like a depressed one in another, and a bunch of Brazilian candles set aflame like a forest fire].

But the scene of the outrageously happy couple seemed even stranger than that.

Edwards' hands were entwined with Carol's like they were going to go out for a clichéd, sunny-skied-birds-chirping-flowers-blooming stroll. "I see you've met my gorgeous wife, Carol." She giggled. Again. I could honestly say that I had no idea why she was laughing.

Yes. That situation was _definitely_ stranger than the Bipolar Elizabeth Sutton Incident [as it has now been dubbed].

Instead of telling them that, I said. "You came into the room without making any kind of sound in the hallway."

Edwards turned thoughtful, "Yes. Well. I suppose old habits die hard." Suddenly a blue object was thrown at me, creating a blue, blurred streak, and I caught it at the last second. I turned it around: Advil? "Oh yes, before I forget, you should be having a pretty nasty headache right about now. Sorry about that." He genuinely looked apologetic. "Homemade Napotine patches are rather tricky, you see."

My hand flew to the back of my neck and felt the waxy surface of a Band-Aid; I yanked it off, the adhesive already losing its stick. Bringing it up to examine—besides the intense reek of chemicals [I nearly knocked myself just by being that close to it] it was just like any other bandage. I stuck the small bottle in my pocket, not trusting him or the medication.

"Cleaning supplies are even more useful than their commercials say they are," Edwards grinned. Carol was fumbling a bit with her hands, but Edwards simply squeezed her shoulders comfortingly. I didn't fail to notice it—and from what Edwards had just blurted out and from common sense and body language, I knew. Carol knew Edwards was a former agent.

I ignored his statement. "Why did you knock me out?"

"Because I figured we'd wake everyone in Eliot House up if we got into a tussle."

"How considerate." _Especially acknowledging the fact that he rendered me unconscious with a Band-Aid._

Edwards merely shrugged and smiled again. "Carol, do you mind getting Zach's shoes, I believe we put them in the next room."

Carol complied, leaving the room, turning down the hall. My eyes warily tracked her before turning back towards Edwards. I didn't bother to hide the shock this time. It was as if someone could control his moods with the flip of a switch. The second his wife left the room, he went from perky to grimly serious.

"Here," he tossed me a black folder I hadn't seen him carry in. Catching it, I opened it to be faced with a pretty girl of about twenty, with wavy light brown hair and happy smile and large blue eyes. "I believe these are what you were looking for."

"Bethany Monroe's files—it's what you were in Eliot House to get, correct?" I looked sharply at Edwards. His chipper face had gone solemn, looking as if someone had just piled years onto his head in a matter of seconds. His grey eyes had turned to steel as he stared at me.

_Was this a setup?_ I thought, suspicion coiling low in my stomach like a snake. "Why give this to me?"

"Because I want this murderer gone." Edwards said, his voice telling me that he wasn't going to elaborate any more on that.

My eyes drilled his—he wasn't lying. I clenched my fist around the black folder, the girl's bloody slaughter forever burnt into my eyes.

"The CIA sent you." It was more of a statement than a question. "The bug your friend in black put on me yesterday was made in Base 20." He lifted up a small black disk about half the size of a dime between his forefinger and thumb. Kim's bug. "They were notorious for their tracking and audio technology back when I still worked for them. I suppose they still are, by some standards."

I raised a brow. "So you want in on the mission then?"

"No." He answered with conviction. "What I want is this murderer taken out. And since it's your duty to do that, I decided you need a helping hand."

I ignored the last part of what he said.

"Why did you leave the CIA?" I inquired.

A large hand sifted through his salt-and-pepper hair, whether it was from frustration or annoyance, I wasn't sure. I thought back to his file—why would a 32 year-old already have graying hair? As if reading my mind, he gave a small, strained smile. "Constant life-threatening missions are rather stressful. To put it lightly, the operations slowly sucked the youth out of me like a vacuum. I decided I had enough of that."

"You left the CIA because you were getting gray hairs?" I asked dubiously.

Edwards, for the first time since in our acquaintance, laughed wholeheartedly. It was knee-slapping laughter as well. He glanced back at me after his fit, his grey eyes amused. "Yes, son, let's just go with that."

I suddenly felt irritated. "Why did you leave the CIA?" I repeated.

"You wouldn't understand."

Although the fact Edwards hadn't said it unkindly, I still felt like seething. Instead, I dug my hands into the pockets of my jeans, a ready weapon [a pen that could render a man paralyzed in three different ways, or kill one fourteen different ways] already gripped in my hand, hidden from view. The black folder was clamped safely under my left arm. I was the picture of nonchalance. "Try me."

Edwards face turned to stone suddenly. "Then tell me, Zach, did you join the CIA to solely serve your country?"

He was evading the question, but his response struck me. I knew the answer should have been 'yes.' That was what any loyal CIA operative would have said—to fight for the United States of America. But I also knew that that answer would have been a lie. And although I was positive I could pull off that lie, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach from the thought of lying to this man. I stared back icily at him, silent.

A strained smile appeared on his tight face. "That's what I thought." He started. "It took me a few years to learn that spies, agents, operatives—whatever you'd like to call them—aren't hired through pure patriotism. That's one of the main differences between them and those fanatical movies. Spies nowadays aren't hired, Zach, they're used."

Meeting his grey eyes, I made no comment. He spoke as if he wasn't an agent, but he was one. Or at least used to be one. What was I supposed to say to something like that, to a guy like that? So I tossed out the very first thing to pop into my mind: "You're pretty good at lying."

"I am telling you the truth."

"But not the whole truth." I shot back.

Edwards crossed his arms in front of his chest, a cocked brow on his forehead. "And what's your reasoning behind that one, son?"

"I suppose you could call it instinct."

A silence grew between us, unlike the one between his wife and I, it felt like pins and needles filled the room. And poor Carol seemed to have walked right into it, my leather shoes in her small hands. Politely receiving my shoes back, I sat back down on the bed behind me, slipping and tying them back on. My eyes trained solely on the shoes as I bent over.

By the time I got my first shoe on, I heard a small pattering bouncing around in the hallway, before it pounced into the room. I glanced up in time to see it.

I froze at the sight.

"Daddy!" A bundle of black, white and yellow barreled into Edwards' arms, his face changing instantly from its stony self to a warm, tender grin. "You need to drive me to school now!"

"Of course, sweetheart." The black haired bundle squirmed to be released from her father's arms, hopping down onto the floor before spinning clumsily around. It was disconcerting to see Edwards' grey eyes on the little girl's face, but instead of the harsh slate irises, I was met with innocently curious ones. Her black hair was tied up into side ponytails, her tiny body in a white and buttery yellow dress.

She clumsily toddled her way towards me as I tied my other shoe on. Cocking her head to the side, a feat that reminded me eerily of Cammie, making me smile a bit, she inquired, "Who are you?"

"Andy," Carol scolded softly, "don't be rude."

"It's alright," I reassured the mother. My eyes went back onto the little girl in front of me, Andy. "I'm Zach."

"I'm Andy." She said unnecessarily, large eyes still curious. Suddenly, she turned around to face her parents, a tiny finger and arm pointing back at me [or at least, the general direction of me]. "Is he the big sib-_sib_ling I asked for last Christmas?" Her toddler tongue stumbling over the word.

Before Edwards or Carol could react, I cut in, "And what if I am?"

Andy spun back around, ponytails flailing. Her small button nose scrunched up, a small pink tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth: "You don't _look _like a big sister."

"Thank you. I get that a lot."

"Oh! No, Andy, Zach is here as a guest." The redheaded woman rushed to say to her daughter. Andy toddled back to her mother, arms held up, begging to be held. Carol complied.

"Who should be leaving soon," Edwards commented, eyes on his silver Rolex, even when I knew that he already knew the exact hour, minute and second. "His Legal Terminology class starts soon," I looked at him warily, was there anything about my cover he didn't know?

"What's that?" Andy asked, facing her father.

Edwards grinned happily at her: "Grown-up classes, sweetheart."

Andy's tiny face scrunched up: "Yucky."

It was nearing nine o'clock and pulling up my mental files I knew Edwards was right—Legal Terminology started in seventeen minutes. Quickly getting up, excusing myself and thanking them for allowing me to stay [Carol had looked at her husband rather accusingly at that. Andy just replied with an automatic "you're welcome" and Edwards—he just looked too damned satisfied].

Rushing through the richly decorated halls and finding the white front door, I opened it, glancing around to take in my surroundings—The Harvard College Campus would have been an easy five minute run—my mind rushing and crashing with facts like a waterfall.

Somewhere behind me as I dashed to the upcoming school, I heard a distinct shout and an image of a tiny, little girl with black pigtails waving her small arm wildly in the air materialized in my head: "Bye-bye, Zach! Bye-bye!"

I saw why Edwards wanted that murderer gone now, especially with being jogging distance between the school—Andy.

* * *

Location: Adams House, Room 119,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Wednesday, September 13th Time: 9:36 a.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

When I entered my dorm, my head was nearly snapped off by Jonas' spin kick.

Then again, I couldn't exactly blame him; I climbed through his bedroom window.

"_Holy shit_, don't ever do that again!" I heard Jonas wail, his tone somewhere between aggravation, relief and just being plain pissed off.

"Funny," I mumbled, my voice muffled from the carpet. I had to dive to the floor in order to miss his foot. I lifted my head up, still sprawled on the ground, glaring at him. "I was gonna say the exact same thing to you."

Jonas rolled his eyes irritably, immediately I noticed the dark circles surrounding them. Jonas' usually ironed white dress shirt was as wrinkled as crumpled paper, his black slacks not doing any better, a gaping hole in the knee, for that matter. His black hair looked like an angry cat wanted to maul him and sleep on him at the same time.

Pulling myself into a sitting position, I picked my words carefully. "You've definitely looked better."

"Where _the hell _were you?" Jonas seethed between clenched teeth. His frame tense. "You sent a distress signal and once I got to Eliot House—by knocking three fucking policemen unconscious, mind you—"

"Nice, so is that where you got the hole in your pants?" I interjected, he continued on as if I hadn't spoken.

"—and _you weren't there_." His eyes were crackling like lightning. I sighed. "I tried tracking your comms unit, but it was blocked. Kim had to physically pull me back before I went after you myself. We were gonna contact _Black Out_ Agents, Zach. Their retrieval unit."

Shocked, I froze, but thawing, my eyes narrowed, my voice low: "You know they wouldn't have come, Jonas. The CIA, _especially_ the Black Outs, wouldn't make that much trouble just because I went missing. If _any_ of us went missing." As I stressed these words, I knew they were true—making me think of what Edwards had said—about spies not being hired, but being used. Like little toy soldiers, or being pawns in a game of chess.

A pause. The hot air seemed to have floated away and Jonas inhaled and exhaled heavily, his fingers holding the bridge of his nose. I stood up languidly, dusting myself off. "Now, if you would please stop acting like an overprotective mother," Jonas snapped his head towards me and gave the evil eye. I smirked: "I'd like to explain everything, starting with this," I tossed him the black folder.

I told him everything but the little conversation Edwards decided to share with me: _"Spies nowadays aren't hired, Zach, they're used."_

"Well, that's interesting." Jonas said when I finished, his eyes already analyzing the black folder and its contents, his mind like a master computer. "By the way, from the fact you climbed in through my window, I'm guessing you saw all the cop cars down there, huh? Probably smart to avoid them, classes are postponed for the day."

"Yup," I said, popping the 'p' and leaning against his bed. I had already snuck into the Lecture Hall in the South Wing, ready for Legal Terminology when the only things I saw in the desks were dust. "They're here to investigate more?"

Jonas shrugged, flipping through pages. "Half of them are. Other half's here to do something else."

"What do you mean?" I asked, shrugging off my black shirt before raiding Jonas' closet. A moment later and he still hadn't answered and I turned to see his frown at me. "What?"

"Wear your own clothes, dammit! I'm sick of all the laundry I have to do." He glared.

Rolling my eyes, I shoved the blue t-shirt back into his too-clean, too-organized closet. "You got it, Mom."

That earned me a pillow aimed for my head; I ducked, smirked and was glared at. It was nice to know the normal routine was still on.

"The other half is here to interrogate, alphabetical order by last name for each House. Once you're interrogated you can leave your House, but you're not allowed to step foot off campus." Jonas clarified. Folding my arms, leaning on my side by the window, my gaze fell on the two black and white police cars parked below.

A cop with blazing red hair was speaking quickly into a black hand-held radio. From behind me, I heard papers shuffling back to the folder as Jonas spoke: "Actually. Now that I think about it, I should be interviewed soon, there's one person before me. I'll see you later."

I merely nodded, my eyes still staring down through the glass. I heard Jonas lock himself in his bathroom, probably changing to look more presentable. But my mind stopped thinking of his mug shot worthy appearance the second I spotted a head of dark blonde hair falling pin straight down the back of a black jacket. She was being escorted by the redheaded cop towards the other side of the building, getting ready to be interviewed, I thought, eyes narrowed.

Thinking back to the first week Jonas and I had been here, I walked briskly to my room, snatching up my phone, thumbing through the different apps. Turning up the volume, my eyes glances through my window, no longer seeing her, but hearing her soft voice through my phone. I smirked; the bugs were left alone in the offices then. I quickly changed out of the soiled clothes from yesterday, opting for a fresh sports jacket and shirt and jeans as the interview began.

Cammie Morgan was right before Jonas Morganson after all.

"Miss Morgan, could you please tell me what you had been doing at Hangar 18 yesterday." A deep timbre boomed through my ears as I plugged white earphones into my head. It was more of an order than a question. To anyone watching, I looked like I was listening to music, my foot started tapping rhythmically for good measure. I frowned a bit at his tone, but Cammie's voice replied steadily back.

"I was spending time with a few friends, sir."

"And who were these friends, Miss Morgan, full names would be helpful."

I could almost hear the frown in Cammie's defensive tone: "With all due respect, none of my friends would ever be connected with a murder."

"We have yet to decide anything, Miss Morgan." A voice I recognized as the pompous blond prick sneered. I plopped myself down onto my bed, hands resting behind my head. "And you never know with your friends. Now, names, Miss Morgan."

I could imagine Cammie glaring at the man, striking eyes light with annoyance. An exasperated sigh blew through my ear buds: "Alright. I was with Lucy Harrington, Zach White, Jonas Morganson, along with his cousin Kim."

The blond officer: "Kim…what?"

"I don't know, Kim's in town to visit Jonas and I asked her if she'd like to come along." Another voice with a southern accent muttered something about looking up Jonas' family [which, according to our covers, consisted of divorced parents on the opposite of the globe, a dog named Hercules and a crazy aunt who apparently mothered Kim]. I momentarily heard papers being shuffled and pencils jotting down notes.

"I see, and your relationship with these people?" The deep voice prompted.

Cammie's voice overlapped the blond prick and the southern officer's muttering in the background. "Lucy's my roommate, we're really good friends. Kim and I don't know each other very well, and the same could be said about Jonas too, but he and I seem to be friends. And Zach's a very good friend too." I smiled at that.

The sound of laminated papers turning filled my ears, like someone was flipping through a photo album. Suddenly it stopped and I heard the blond prick exclaim: "It's that bratty kid from last night! Zach White, huh? I should just call him in here to clean the gum off my shoe, dammit, they'd cost a lot!"

"He's not a bratty kid." Cammie countered her tone indignant.

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and defend your boyfriend."

"What? H-he's not my boy—he's not my boyfriend!" My brows rocketed to meet my hairline, my smirk prominent, thoroughly amused—I had never heard Cammie being so flustered that she'd yell at an authority figure [even if said authority figure was about as mature as a third grader, and had half the brain power of one]. She had always seemed so serene.

"_Enough!_" The first voice bellowed. The effects were like a hand had clicked the mute button on their voices.

I shifted positions, hearing Jonas slip through the door of our room with a click, probably heading down to the lounge waiting to be interrogated. And from that point forward, the interview ran as smoothly as a river, background information on Cammie was asked [nothing I hadn't already knew] until it finally came back to the murder at the rock-climbing gym.

I listened as Cammie let it slip that she had witnessed the killing from afar. I felt like a fist of ice punched my gut as her soft, bruised voice, no longer steady, but wavering a bit, described the scene that had been permanently playing in my mind like a broken record ever since the night before. Raking my hand through my hair roughly, I caught every word she uttered.

"…I didn't know what I was seeing when it happened, I just saw a clump of black jerking around, they were outside too and it was already getting dark. Then I heard s-someone scream and then I saw Bethany's face….Oh God, there was so much blood—it was all over her cheeks, a-and her forehead. And she just kept screaming and crying. I felt like screaming too, but I-I don't know. I froze on the climbing wall. I—"

A pause, Cammie took a deep breath before continuing. "Someone from behind had shot her and blood was just _everywhere_. Then they did _something_ to her, to her _arm_—it was all twisted, it didn't even look _real,_ and looked ready to be popped out of her socket like a doll—it just—oh God…"

Running my hand down my face warily, somewhat nauseated at the image in my head, I thumbed through my phone and pressed a blue record button on the screen, the programming in the bugs changing. The rest of the interviews for the day being saved to it. Turning my phone off, I ripped the white earphones out and wrapped them around my phone.

Closing my eyes, I headed for the bathroom to start a shower. Hysteric, pain filled screaming following me around in my mind as I stepped under the hot steaming water. My head met the smooth, cool tiling as I leaned against it, the scene tormenting me. For a second, Bethany's face had changed to a girl with dirty blonde hair with expressive green eyes in agony. I buried the image into a metaphorical abyss of my mind.

I knew what happened to Bethany Monroe's arm.

It was an exclusive, specially designed move for Blackthorne students, after all.

* * *

Location: Northern Courtyard,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Sunday, September 17th Time: 12:03 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

Nearly all the policemen left Adams House and had moved onto the rest of the River Houses. The four days passed uneventfully, class-wise. Homework was stuffed snugly in my backpack, and after a long day of droning voices, pesky police officers barricading dorms and hallways, and the Bethany Monroe case, my backpack felt as if it weighed more than what I usually bench-pressed [which is pretty damn impressive, if I do say so myself].

The other night Jonas and I managed to identify one of the accomplices to the murderer as a man named Sam Kennedy, who had a background of homicide before and had escaped prison for half a year now. We had already surmised that he wasn't the one from Blackthorne, but a lackey. Arnold had arranged for him to be brought in [and by 'arranged' I mean Kim knocked him out and the policemen at the station found him on the front desk unconscious].

But aside from that, our lead had run cold, the file on Bethany Monroe not much help, only telling us medically what had happened and her personal file. Comparing it to the rest of the homicide victims, there was no solid link between them. Had it not been for a Blackthorne technique used on Bethany Monroe's arm, Jonas and I would have written it off as a random murder.

"Hey Cam," I smiled at the way Cammie was hauling her overstuffed red book bag. It looked as if adding a single sheet of paper would have made it burst at its frayed seams. "And you should really consider not carrying your homework everywhere you go on campus; your bag's so big half the time I think it's going to eat you."

"I'd put up a good enough fight." Cammie stated simply, she plopped her bag down to the grass, brown leaves crunching under the weight before dropping herself next to me on the stone bench. Her hand pulled a bag of colorful M&Ms and a water bottle out of her bag. "Want something? Vending machine in the lounge gave me a few extras by mistake."

Amused, I curled my arm around her petite shoulders playfully. "Actually now that you bring it up, I'd like something." Pushing down her offered bag of Skittles, I leaned down until my mouth was right next to her ear, my voice lowered for only her to hear. "Only question is, Cam, is if you'll give it to me or not."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she blinked with her long, curved eyelashes for a moment. Something between shock and confusion appeared on her face, large green eyes wide, before she yanked back so suddenly I thought she'd fallen off the end of the bench.

Setting my chin on my palm, my elbow leaning on the stone table, I gazed down as Cammie busied herself with grabbing her bag, nimble hands fidgeting. Her long thick hair covering her face that I knew for a fact was blushing. I grinned; happily amused, teasing her to keep her mind off the death had become something of a hobby for me. Despite what she thought of herself, Cammie truly was adorable.

"So anyways, did you hear about that fire alarm that went off in the Business Division—it's the building with the gigantic oak in front of it?" Cammie blurted out, obviously trying to change the subject. I smirked at bit at the pink tinge her cheeks were but nodded at her description.

"Not very smart for someone to pull a fire alarm with the cops around," I pointed out, stealing a green M&M from her outstretched hand.

Cammie merely shrugged. I had already heard the alarm, there had been a total of three alarms on Campus, and I assumed it was just someone who wanted to send the cops into frenzy [not that I really disapproved, it was almost funny watching some of them practically have a heart attack].

My phone vibrated from inside my pocket and I knew who it was before I retrieved it, reading the text message, I turned to Cammie and lied. "I've got to go pretty soon—Jonas needs some help analyzing _Hamlet_."

She nodded understandingly, my stomach dropping a bit from guilt, before tilting her head a bit inquiringly. "Bates' class is already starting _Hamlet? _Mr. Edwards better pick up the pace with our class then."

I tried not to stiffen at his name: "I suppose so."

"_To be or not to be, that is the question,_" Cammie quoted automatically, before blushing bashfully. "Sadly, I don't know the rest completely—I'd be a terrible actress."

I smiled almost sadly, although I refused to think of her as a threat [and this was the only thing Kim had agreed with me on], Jonas and Arnold weren't letting up. "Acting is the same thing as lying, you know."

Her green eyes were curious now. "That's an interesting way of looking at it; but it wouldn't be technically lying if you were playing a character, right? It's the character saying the lines, not really you. For example, I_ really_ can't imagine you, Zach White, in tights and a cape, quoting Shakespeare. As Hamlet…well I suppose I could see it."

"I'm pretty sure I could pull off the tights and cape look," I said, mock serious. Cammie laughed. "But since you always call me Spy Boy, you can imagine me as a dashing spy in a tuxedo, am I right?"

"I suppose Hamlet could have been a spy: _to spy or not to spy, that is the question_." Cammie said through her fit of laughter. And image of Edwards popped up in my mind but I fiercely erased it the second it came.

Her green eyes practically sparkling. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, threateningly pulling her in gentle headlock. "Why are you laughing?" I exclaimed; she buried her face in my jacket, suppressing more laughter.

"It's not _that _far-fetched," I said, smiling, enveloping her to me with both arms. Her laughing had simmered down to soft giggling that I felt against my chest. "I'm handsome enough to be one, aren't I?"

She surprised me by answering seriously. "You really are." I gazed into her eyes, watching as the blacks of her pupils stayed still, not dilating. Her breathing was steady as well.

The corner of my mouth tilted up on its own accord and I watched as she seemed to realize the position we were in. Her face burned a deep pink that rose from her neck up and she pulled away from my arms, and I let her. She hefted her gigantic bag onto her shoulder, mumbling polite declinations to my offers to help her. I leaned back on the stone picnic table, feeling oddly cold when she pulled away, like someone ripping off a perfectly warm and comfy blanket as I was dreaming.

"Hey, what about dinner?" I blurted out, nearly surprising myself. Cammie stilled, looking at me astonished. Obviously she was surprised as well. "You know me and Jonas, you and Lucy? Food here is fine, but I want something other than health food—I feel like a rabbit eating all of it. So how about going out tonight?"

Cammie played with her nimble fingers, pink lips pursed—signs that meant she was nervous. "Do you think it's safe?" She whispered softly, sad and trusting eyes gazing back at mine. I softened at the sight—she was still nervous about leaving campus—as she should be.

"I wouldn't let anything hurt you." I said truthfully. Cammie blinked before giving me a warm smile. "It's safe with me."

"I believe you." A pang of guilt hit me, but I pushed it aside. "Thanks, Zach."

"No problem," I said, before my phone buzzed again. "Well, I should get going, then, I'll leave it to you and Lucy to decide the restaurant, considering me and Jonas will eat anything. And remember, it has to be somewhat unhealthy." I stood smoothly up.

"Somewhat unhealthy, got it. We'll call you for the details." I nodded before walking away, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a tall guy in an orange t-shirt and jeans who had been watching Cammie and I the whole time.

I recalled his name was Mark Tanner, and I also recalled that he was in the same Child Psychology class a Cam, watching her with lovesick puppy dog eyes. With an urge I wasn't about to refuse, I turned my head to the side, still walking and shouted: "It's a date!"

With a satisfied grin, feeling as if I had just made a major accomplishment [in a way, it kind of was], I walked away, leaving a flustered Cammie and a very angry, very jealous Mark Tanner behind.

* * *

As soon as I turned the corner, I started sprinting towards Adams House. The text message practically burning a hole through the pocket of my dark wash jeans, it was in code, but I knew how Jonas' mind worked, that it was solved within minutes of thinking.

_We found a lead. The Target is closer than we think. _

The mission was finally taking off.

* * *

_**(Author's Note)**_**: **And there you have it, Chapter 8. Somewhat of a cliffy…? I can't really tell anymore ['cause I already know what's going to happen]. And there was a little bit of **Zammie** in there, if you squint [yeah, Romance and I aren't very well acquainted, but please be patient with me!].

As for my future stories [like my Clique, Heist Society, Sailor Moon, etc. stories] that are waiting on my computer to be published, **I'm not going to publish ANY NEW STORIES**, until I finish the ones I have now. And also, to those who have read my story: Family is My Business, I'm sorry to say, that I'm debating on taking it off the site, because I don't think I can write for it anymore. I'm very sorry to those who enjoyed that story.

**Side note: **Please visit my profile and vote on my poll: **WHAT STORY SHOULD I UPDATE FIRST? **Because it will help with time management! Much appreciated!

Thanks for reading everyone! **First SEVENTEEN [**if I get that much**] REVIEWERS will get the preview! **And also, if you're not interested in a preview, just write: **PASS** in all caps in your review and your sneak peek will be transferred to the next person in line. [since I've gotten a PM who said they didn't really want a preview. But it's fine!].

**Please tell me what you think! Review please? **

-a very grateful diva


	9. Resolve

_**(Author's Note)**_: …wow. I'm a little (or, uh, actually _majorly_ so) that there are readers still actually reading this story! Wow, thank you guys so much—I can't express my gratitude enough, when I logged onto my email to check some stuff out, I was a little more than astounded to find that there was actually a response to the story.

**THANK YOU. THANK YOU TO ALL WHO HAD TOLD ME NOT TO GIVE UP.**

**I don't plan on leaving this story**—that's what you reviewers had made me realize as I pumped this chapter out. I reread my chapters and I realize exactly how many strings are lose in this story, so with renewed vigor—I plan on not only giving up, I plan on finishing this story _**by the end of the summer**__. _I may be getting ahead of myself, but I think with all the support I've been getting, it's the least I could do to attempt it.

* * *

_Replies to Anonymous Reviewers: _(due to fanfiction's new "guest reviewers" format, I'll be answering these in the order which the reviews came in, although I appreciate that some of you left your names)

**1)** I'm glad you find the story entertaining! As for Cammie's status, on what she isn't/is, I'll leave that up to the story to decide. Thank you for your review and support! And hopefully I'll be able to get to a library to borrow the book sometime soon. I heard it's amazing.

**2)** Wow! That's extremely flattering, I'm glad that I was able to write a story that you can call your favorite—especially considering there are a lot of great fics in this fandom. Thank you for the compliment, and hopefully you'll like this chapter as well.

**3)** I do plan on continuing this story, so no gigantic need to worry, I hope you like this chapter, thank you very much for the support! I leave Cammie's status up to you. But thanks so much for such the high praise!

**4)** I'm happy to know that you find it a great story, but thanks for sympathizing with my lack of interest. I'm hoping to read the latest book to get me back into writing. But thank you very much for the support, it's greatly appreciated!

**5)** Thanks for saying that! Saying that you love a story that I had written really brings up my mood and hopefully I won't stop writing any time soon. It's nice to know it's not in vain. Thanks again for the support!

**6)** Thank you for such amazing support, I'm happy to say that I'm getting some of my mojo back, but it wouldn't have gotten back if it were not for you, and everyone else's, kind words! And hopefully I'll be able to write the ending to this story soon (:

**_Sam_:** You were the first response! Thank you for the support! I'm glad to hear that you like the story, and hopefully I'll be able to pull through for the rest of the plot line. Thanks for letting me know, it really helped me spin this chapter out!

**_Lacey/BlueHeelsKill_**: I'm so glad that you enjoy the story enough to say that you love it! And I do plan on finishing this story, I'll just do my best at spinning out more ideas and chapters, but it was thanks to the support you guys gave me that really got this chapter out, so thank you so much for that!

**_Two-BitMattews3_**: Wow, that's really, really flattering of you to say! I'm nearly blushing, thank you so much! I wouldn't have gotten this many chapters out without all the feedback that people gave me, they really are great pep talks in motivating myself. So thank you for leaving a review, and letting me know that there are people out there wanting to read what I write. I don't plan on ruining it now (: thank you for your support!

* * *

Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:

Identity revealed—Maxwell Edwards: past agent who cut his ties with the CIA on the account of feeling used. His philosophy: "Spies aren't hired, they're used." Bethany Monroe's death information and file now in the hands of Zach and the others, they realize that the murderer must know some secret information at Blackthorne—as the move done to kill her could only have happened at the hands of their alumni. Along with the fact that they found a clue, some things are revealed while some stay shrouded in mystery.

Oh yeah, and Zach plans on making sure that no other guy asks one Cameron Morgan out. Whether he knows it or not.

No big deal—no big deal _at all._

* * *

Mission Rankings:

_**Black Out**_ – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.

_Level A _– Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.

**Level B **– Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months.

Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months.

_Level D _– Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.

**Level E **– Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Resolve**

_"A mystery is not a mystery if there is no answer."—Director Jordan_

Location: The Punch Pizzeria,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Sunday, September 17th Time: 7:26 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"You do realize I just set you up with a hot girl for the night, right?"

I leaned against the brown leather upholstery of the booth. The evening had fallen quickly, the sun steadily dipping down the horizon. Cam messaged both Jonas and I the details of the night, they were supposed to meet us at 7:30 at a local pizzeria. Jonas sat beside me, elbows leaning on the wooden table with his face buried in his hands.

At my words, his head snapped up, and I was pinned by a cutting glare that would have made an axe envious.

"And you also realize that I don't _want_to be set up with Lucy, right?" He grimaced at the girl's name, his voice sounded equivalent to a toddler's reaction to the boogieman. "I've been trying to tell her I'm not interested in her romantically without hurting her feelings, I even told her that I had a girlfriend but she didn't believe me since I hadn't taken any photos with Liz with me on this trip."

Suddenly, Jonas turned to me, blue eyes so hopeful that it made me wary—did he want something? "You know, as a best friend—" Oh yeah, he wanted something alright. "—it'd be really awesome if you'd go out with Lucy, to get her off my back."

Bring the glass of water to my lips, I raised a brow. Disinterestedly, I said, "Don't think she'd like me."

Jonas waved it off, "Ah come on; she'll love you! You're handsome, you're confident, you're intellectual, you have that whole sexy-slash-mysterious crap girls like, and—you just manipulated me into complimenting you, didn't you?"

Smirking, I shrugged. "Thank you for falling for it; although I realize I am all those things, it's nice to hear it once in a while." I grinned deviously, "and it sounded almost like _you _wanted to date me for a second there."

He punched my shoulder before going back to begging. "Come on, would you just help me out? You even said you thought Lucy's hot."

Conversationally, I continued, "Brunettes aren't really my type."

My friend looked confused: "But you just said—"

"Yes, Lucy's hot." I admitted, before saying: "And so is McHenry and we both know how well _that_went."

Jonas cringed, recalling the disastrous dinner date—it was surprising the restaurant hadn't kicked McHenry and I out, or had caused the place to explode from nagging, insults, and the salt-shaker-turned-grenade [poor waitress didn't stand the slightest chance].

Running a hand through my hair, I continued, "Besides, I think I might have my eye on someone else." My mind pictured pretty green eyes just as Jonas' demeanor seemed to drop the room's temperature fifteen degrees lower.

"Zach." His tone suddenly turned belligerent. "You _know_that we have to be careful, especially now. We can't trust anyone, not even her." I turned expressionless eyes to Jonas, hard green colliding with icy blue.

Through an interrogation with Sam Kennedy—the lackey who assisted with Bethany Monroe's murder—the thirty-five year old cracked and broke down before us. An eye swollen shut from a beating and his other one looking at us, begged us for mercy and watered, words tumbling out his mouth between the sobs. The sight made me sick—we, as agents, had done that to him. I had to fight the guilt back with the thought that he had murdered many before.

He'd been hired by a group of three or four people who had made him meet just outside Harvard College in a warehouse. Kennedy told us how he had followed one of them, a man, to the gateway at Harvard before running away. By the time, we asked for faces and descriptions he had gone hysterical, screaming how he couldn't remember. I was almost certain I wasn't the only one whose hairs stood up on end at his wounded cries.

Kim had been monitoring him since she plopped him at the police station. Sam Kennedy escaped, said the news. From his broken cries, the truth was he had been taken by the group to the warehouse. Arnold had found him in an alley before calling the rest of us to come to his aid.

The second the interrogation was over, Jonas had taken him back to prison until further notice, our plan was to see if he'd calmed down enough to talk. The way his face broke in relief was as nearly haunting as his words before: _"Please take me back to jail, please! T-They'll kill me for tellin' ya—they'll kill me!" _

Our suspects were inside the school, either masquerading as students or faculty or both. Jonas had been on edge with this subject since then.

"Hey, you guys!"

Hearing the boisterous voice of Lucy, I looked up to see the little brunette with a black skirt and a frilly crimson blouse, curled hair bouncing with every step she took. Behind the ostentatious girl, was Cammie looking around a bit uncertain with jeans, blue canvas sneakers and a navy and white parka. Her green eyes locked onto mine, she gave a cute, timid smile and a shy little wave. I grinned as she walked over.

Sliding into the opposite seat of the booth, Cammie looked at the clock on the wall, relieved: "Right on time, I was so worried we'd be late." I didn't tell her that she was exactly a hundred and thirty-two seconds late. She glanced accusingly at _her_ roommate, who was currently fluttering long fake lashes at _my_[socially awkward and uncomfortable] roommate.

"Perfection should never be rushed, Cam." Lucy said without taking her eyes off Jonas, flicking a curl of hair over her shoulder. Cammie rolled her eyes, torn somewhere between annoyance and amusement. Lucy reached her manicured hands for Jonas' across the table just as he pulled his into his lap. Seeing the retreat, she retracted immediately and pivoted her hand to Cammie. "You should have let me done something with your hair."

Cammie fingered a lock of hair and cocked an eyebrow: "And what? Have dinner with the guys by midnight."

"Fine, then the clothes, and your shoes!" Lucy looked down, probably glancing at Cammie's sneakers, as if the fact that they were on her best friend's feet was a personal affront on her behalf.

The dirty-blonde looked down at her feet. "They're comfortable."

"But do they show off your long legs and cute butt? No, no they don't." Lucy commented, swabbing and smoothing out a dollop of pink gloss onto her lips. I never understood the concept of it; it seemed like a fruity flavored nuisance to eating if you asked me.

Cammie let out a nearly invisible sigh. "How can you say that so easily?"

"She has an inner demon that likes to act up from time to time." I stated simply, quite satisfied when curious, green eyes turned their attention to me. "Also known to mankind as a libido."

Jonas cocked a brow in my direction, quickly slipping his hand away when Lucy attempted to play with his fingers, "Are you calling yourself a demon then?"

I flicked a straw at his face, smile quirking up as it hit his glasses. "Hush, you."

He retaliated by throwing napkins at my face.

Physics did not love Jonas the way Jonas loved physics and said napkins ended up smacking Cammie in the face instead. Laughing eyes glanced over at Jonas and I accumulated the sneaking suspicion that she would have readied her menu for battle if not for an irritated manager glaring balefully at us twenty paces away.

"He looked ready to blow an artery." Jonas stated matter-of-factly as the manager walked away, not before throwing a wry glance our direction.

"As long as he doesn't get anything in my pizza, I don't mind. Man can have a stroke if he'd like," Lucy stated frankly. A passing waiter threw a particular nasty glance as he walked away.

At least Cammie had the grace to look a tad sheepish; embarrassment's pink flushing her cheeks a bit. I'd be lying if it wasn't cute.

"They're going to spit in our food," Cammie replied rather warily, like it was as inevitable as the moon rising in a few hours. "If I contract some type of disease after this, I'm blaming you."

Conversation ambled on like that for a while before I slipped away to give our order. I felt my mouth go into a hard line at the remembrance of Jonas' words. I watched as Cammie conversed amicably with Jonas, unbeknownst to her, I saw clearly from the tight smiles and short, but conspicuously thoughtful, responses that Jonas' guard was still up.

I studied her profile, everything from the small pink mouth to the curve of her eyelashes. Thinking back to how she looked so guilty, like she should have been put in an orange jumper and a cell, when she accidentally squirted ketchup on a friend's shirt sleeve to how she seemed too drawn into a novel as she walked and slammed into a teacher [again, looking so guilty and piling apology after nervous apology on said professor].

I glanced down before she could catch me staring, my eyes hardened. Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I turned to be faced with three large steaming hot pizzas. Carrying them steadily in my hands, I made my way back to the booth, its table full of laughter.

Cammie Morgan was no threat. Whether Jonas believed me or not.

* * *

"Does Jonas not like me?"

I glanced at Cammie, genuinely surprised. We [or more like Lucy] decided to take a walk after eating the monstrous amount of pepperoni, sausage and cheese back in the pizzeria. The little brunette clung to Jonas' arm like one does in chick flicks and was hauling him around on the sidewalks like an unwilling dog with his paws dragging against the gravel. Cammie and I lagged behind the two. We were walking around the shopping district of Cambridge. Stores and boutiques lined the sidewalks with bright, swanky lights blinking, begging for attention.

"And what gave you that idea?" I inquired, feeling the warmth of her arm against mine. It gave the illusion that we were close and perhaps Cammie thought that we were—but I knew that we weren't really. Maybe Zach White could have been, but not me, never me.

Cammie shrugged, eyes staring ahead. "I guess I just got the feeling that he doesn't see me as a friend." Gloom hovered over her like a raincloud, but she hurried to reassure me. "But it's nothing to worry about, really."

"It's not." I agreed. "Because he does like you."

Cam seemed to perk up a bit. And I added it onto my ever-growing list of lies that I had already fed her. "He does?"

"Absolutely." I fibbed, before throwing a casual arm around her shoulders, giving her a lazy grin. "But I'm here to make sure he doesn't like you _too _much."

The way Cammie tilted her head up at me, eyes too innocent to be true, told me that she hadn't gotten my little comment. Smiling softly down at her, I slid my hand down to her hand before carefully holding it, treating it like glass. "After all, I'd have to save you from the cat fight you and Lucy would get into if he liked you too much." My other hand pushed aside a strand of hair, her green eyes growing steadily in understanding.

My hand moved on its own accord, playing with a smooth strand of dark blonde hair. I smirked. "Besides, I'll let you in on a little secret," I breathed, leaning in. "I'm probably the most competitive guy you'll ever meet. This, I can practically guarantee." The fringe of my hair met her own, and the cool autumn air was quickly forgotten when the warmth of her breath greeted my chin. "Being in a contest wouldn't be good for my friendship with Jonas, now would it?"

Cammie mutely shook her head, hair swishing back and forth.

I vaguely noted we stopped walking.

And my thumb was drawing absentminded circles around the back of her warm hand.

My gaze seemed to zero in on her mouth.

Before she yanked us closer to Lucy and Jonas with surprising strength for a girl her size, nearly tipping me over.

The two ahead had stopped as well, the former looking excitedly between Cammie and me, as if we were a science experiment going in the direction of her hypothesis and the latter looking at us warily, as if we were a science experiment that was going to blow up in his face. As we caught up with them, I felt rather warmed from the fact she hadn't pulled her hand away from mine.

As the four of us kept walking, the warmth in me froze into a glacier.

Lucy screamed. Her horrified eyes wide, hands around her mouth as she hyperventilated. I was nearly certain she would faint if Cammie hadn't immediately gone to her side, trying to calm her, but looking rather shell-shocked herself.

Jonas looked disturbed and alarmed, eyes trained solely on the wall of the alley beside us. People had already started murmuring, a bald man with a white moustache talking rapidly into his cell phone, along with a few others copying his action. Mothers turned their children the other way, curious bystanders walking closer to see what was happening. Jonas and I, along with a few other civilians surged forward, wanting an accurate look.

The blood in my veins frosted over, ice lacing my veins, my eyes not able to look away.

There, with knifes thrust through his ragged, dirty orange jumper and into the brick wall behind him, hung Sam Kennedy, the criminal convicted for multiple homicides, his mouth twisted into a silent scream of anguish, the whites of his eyes showing, his skin looking as if it had shrunk and was too small to hold his flesh in. He looked like a tormented statue that had been pinned onto the brick wall like a bulletin board.

In my mind, I took note that Lucy's screams had quieted to whimpers from behind me, seeing Cammie freeze as she hugged her friend close. It looked more like it was on instinct—Cammie turning herself into a human shield for a comrade.

But the only thing I was truly aware of was the post-it on the chest of his jumper, its message accompanied by Sam Kennedy's skin-crawling murder.

_Your first clue just died. Think it's worth a second try? _

* * *

Location: Room T763,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Thursday, September 28th Time: 3:32 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

**Covert Operations Report**

**Day 74**

**…with recent discoveries; the assailant(s) are capable to do a Seirende Maneuver, which had been outlawed by forty-six global governments between the years of 1934 to 1938. This forbidden technique has been used on Bethany Monroe's right arm, its deformation visible through the naked eye, these shows that the assailant(s) are not swift enough to do a successful Seirende Maneuver [which can only be seen through an autopsy]. Further information shall be updated by Virus and Hacker…**

I scanned the words, fingers poised above the keyboard of my laptop. I was debating on whether the consistent number of fire alarms [eight] that Harvard College was experiencing were worth mentioning or not.

I sat at the corner desk in the back, slapping the screen down, feeling my leg bouncing in irritation. Raking my hands through my dark hair, I exhaled in exasperation. Despite what I was feeling, the mission was continuing as planned, a list of suspects already piling up, including Edwards [although I practically scoffed at Kim when she suggested him as a suspect], ready for my team and me to evaluate.

So logically, I typically would have been in a magnificent mood.

I wasn't.

I just felt so goddamned _frustrated._

"You've been avoiding me." It wasn't a question; it was a statement, an accusation to even my ears. I gazed up at the girl standing in front of me, her long veil of hair covering her face shyly, her nimble fingers fidgeting with the too-long sleeves of her bottle-green shirt. I leaned back, eyes practically burning a hole through her little bubble.

"No, I haven't." Her response was too fast.

"Don't lie to me, Cammie." I said quietly, rather disappointed. A string of last minute students rushed into the room, panting in exert and relief pouring over their faces, following a cheerful Edwards in a grey dress shirt tucked into black slacks.

"Class is starting!" Cammie's head snapped up, green eyes shining with relief, much like the last minute students, as she quickly stepped into the desk diagonal on the right for me. I narrowed my eyes on her back; I wasn't going to be pushed aside that easily, like some sort of pesky mosquito.

"Zeus!" Edwards boomed, making the front row of whispering and giggling girls jump in surprise. He looked quite satisfied with himself. "Poseidon, Hades, Artemis—can you tell me who these figures are, Jeremiah?" His grey eyes aimed at a boy with bushy brown hair.

"Greek mythological creatures…?" His answer sounded more like a question.

Edwards nodded approvingly, before continuing: "Mythology and literature are tied together, but are not to be confused with one another, understand? This will be on the rather large test next Friday, so I hope you're listening. Don't want to listen to me? Failing my class will be your only option."

Edwards turned to his whiteboard, hand quickly drawing a sloppy van diagram, one side reading Literature, the other Mythology. "On to business, on your desk, you should all have received a purple handout. I'll put it in laymen terms. Joint presentation. Twenty percent of your final grade. The topics? Up to you and your partner. And your time starts…_now._"

The second the last monosyllabic word left his mouth, my foot shot out to hook the leg of Cammie's chair and yanked it backwards easily against the floor, barely making a sound as the chatter of the room rose steadily in volume. Satisfied with the shocked look on her face, I leaned on my elbows, a finger capturing and swirling a wisp of her hair around and around, like it was the most natural thing in the world, before saying with a smug voice: "So, partner, what do you want to do?"

Minutes passed quickly as Cammie scrawled nonexistent notes before I decided to break the fragile silence between us.

"Mind explaining to me why you've been avoiding and ignoring me for weeks?" I asked casually, eyes on the strand of hair I was playing with. My leg had practically chained her desk to mine. I snuck a glance at her, and was rather fixated by the unconscious pout that seemed to make up her pink mouth.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, tone sincere. Forgiving her felt surprisingly simple, the logic of it all seemed as easy as one plus one equals two; it felt so easy that I had to remind myself that I had to be angry with her. "It's just that I've been busy…"

"And?" I prompted with my eyes on hers. She looked nervous, and seemed to want to look anywhere but me.

"And with what we saw, back at the pizzeria earlier this month…" Cammie's statement drifted off to silence. I nodded understandingly; a murder was traumatic, two in one month was just horrifying and exhausting. "Lucy hasn't really been handling things well…she's really stressed about it. She doesn't handle…death well, at all—then again, who wouldn't?—and really doesn't know _how _to deal with it. Everything's just gotten out of hand."

Looking at her, I caught on immediately: "I know you're not telling me the whole truth," I stated matter-of-factly, her petite shoulders tensing, but I smiled. "But thank you for at least telling me what's going on. Or a small portion of it." _But I guarantee that I'll know the whole story behind this, _I added silently.

She relaxed, but didn't elaborate on whatever else was bothering her. Cammie gave a brilliant smile before holding up her open notebook, a diagram much like Edwards' from the board, just much neater. In her other hand was the purple handout; black instructions printed clearing on it. "Looks like we need to get started. Alright, which Greek god? Ares? Athena?"

* * *

Location: Adams House, Room 119,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Thursday, September 28th Time: 3:32 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Think of it as honeypotting."

"No."

"For a man who believes there may be intellectual life on other corners of our solar system, you're close minded as hell."

Jonas gave me an evil look that, if the laws of physics allowed it, probably would have melted my face off. He had his arms folded over his chest as he sat on bed, his tone clipping steel like a beautician would nails. "Honeypotting? With Cammie? If you're so determined to use your honeypot techniques, why not use it on say…" Jonas picked up a random sheet of paper, eyes scanning the names of our suspects. "…Sloan Fray?"

"Because I believe dating Sloan Fray would legally make her a pedophile."

Jonas rolled his eyes. "She's not _that _old, Zach."

"Then the Department of Cover and Concealment should really consider where Miss Fray gets her hair dye—the shade of gray is pretty realistic." I said sarcastically, flicking the picture of the thirty-seven-year-old woman back to Jonas. "The wrinkles are a nice touch—Cover and Concealment would want to ask her about that too."

He sighed, scratching the side of his head—a little trait that let me know he was getting frustrated but didn't want to show it. I rolled the computer chair towards Jonas, before relaxing once again by leaning back and crossing my ankles. "Look at it this way. You don't trust Cammie. My being her boyfriend will allow me to surmise whether she's a threat to this mission or not. Just like honeypotting."

A pause.

"No."

"Quite the killjoy, aren't you?"

Jonas flicked through the records before passing me a pile, his expression complicit as he said, "As long as you don't literally get killed, I'm fine with that."

Accepting the papers, I said. "Is it strange that if I imagined you were a civilian, you'd be some type of Donald Trump incarnate? You know, stomping on hopes, dreams and livelihood and all that."

"I'm wounded." He deadpanned, sifting through the papers mechanically. Jonas did it so efficiently, at times akin to these, I wondered if he an android of some kind. Wouldn't shock me too terribly. "Anything else?"

"Oh yeah, you stomp on puppies too. Can't forget the puppies."

"Now you're just being a prick."

"Love you too, man. Love you too." Once fully memorized, I grabbed a lighter off the nightstand and it wasn't a second longer before the lists and profiles of suspects that warranted attention was merely a pile of disintegrated ash. Dusting off my hands, I heard the kindling sound of Jonas obliterating his stack.

"Hey, watch the smoke," I reprimanded, Adams House didn't need to be lectured by the fire marshals a second time. Keeping a mental note to check the fire alarm system sometime this week [to figure out exactly who the hell keeps setting those things off]; I strode off purposefully to the doorway. "I'll be back by five." [_Translation: I'll be patrolling the perimeter by Eliot House_]

Jonas seemed to hesitate for a moment before nodding, but his cutting gaze slashed at my own. "This discussion isn't over, Zach."

Fixing my eyes onto his with a sharpness of my own, I replied evenly, my tone cool and frosted over.

"Agreed."

The door clicked into place behind me, the tense air from the room permeating the mahogany of the door, seeping through the cracks like some type of noxious gas escaping its confines.

Marching away down the hall, I couldn't help but think that something much denser than the door had just been closed between Jonas and me at that moment.

* * *

Location: Adams House, Room 207,

Harvard College,

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Date: Saturday, October 14th Time: 6:47 p.m.

P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode

"Can't really blame Jonas for ignoring you," Cammie declared, after hearing my [_censored and shortened_] story from a couple of weeks ago. The dirty blonde was sprawled out on her lilac bedspread, tummy down and legs kicking upwards: the very epitome of a typical teenage girl relaxing. "I think he'd prefer to be an incarnate of—say, someone like _Da Vinci_—over a guy who looks like he could keep his hair as a pet."

She paused for a moment before swapping her attention from her textbook to meet my own. "I was about to suggest 'incarnate of Einstein' but then again, Albert Einstein may be the only person in history to lose in a competition of hair against Donald Trump."

"Yeah, well, Trump is a jackass." I declared firmly. "And Einstein gave us _E_ = _mc^_2 thus by the rules of everything great and mighty—that makes his hair far less ridiculous than Trump's." Cammie laughed. "Although, now that I think about it, wasn't it Einstein who poisoned his best friend on accident?"

Cammie looked at me as if I sprouted another head, or I told her I actually found Lucy's company _pleasant_. I glanced around said brunette's and Cam's room, feeling all the more grateful she wasn't there.

Staring back at the giggling green eyes of aforementioned girl, she elaborated: "Do you mean Sherlock Holmes? And I don't think it was his best friend he poisoned—I think it was his dog."

"Ah, and we're back to square one again: harming dogs." I leaned back, the spine of the computer chair arching back with me. "Jonas stomps. You poison. Don't you people know animal abuse is wrong?"

Laughter stirred the air around us, and the ambiance warmed like the rays of the sun had thawed it [you know, despite the fact that, from the looks of it, a storm was brewing above us that very second]. Eyeing the quick flash of purple in her hand, I playfully dove to my right to meet the white carpeted floor, rolling away expertly until my side hit her bed and effectively dodged the pillow aimed for my face.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, feeling my own mouth stretch into a grin on its own accord. My back met the ground as my gaze met the ceiling. The moment her head popped out from the edge of her bed, seeing flushed cheeks grinning and brilliant eyes sparked with amusement, I felt that there, on the hard floor with a book cramming its way into my spine, I had just won the most extravagant view on campus. "Don't go abusing people now, Cameron! You should be grateful for my wonderful reflexes—I know my face is."

Cammie grinned with the innocence of an angel, halo and all, but anyone would have been able to read the mischief winking in her eyes. Choosing not to answer, she put on her dark framed glasses. "Time to study, Spy Boy."

I knew a pretty picture when I saw one. And being the opportunist I was, I drank in her appearance with the precision and attention one would use taste the finest of wines, figurative tongue licking leisurely and buds buzzing with flavor.

It was a damned shame that Cam only donned her glasses for cramming, with her hair thrown into a messy bun, wild bronze strands licking pleasantly flushed cheeks and black framed glasses emphasizing green, green eyes.

Cameron Morgan made quite the pleasing image.

And could have became a pretty damn sexy librarian, if I did say so myself.

I pushed the sudden onslaught of rather _indecent _thoughts and partially _lewd _scenarios involving my conclusion back to the recesses of my mind.

As if reading my thoughts, which to be honest with myself, weren't exactly _impervious_ to detection, Cammie seemed to blush before crawling back to the security of her textbook on the other side of the bed.

I smirked—_cute._

Batting away the novel that was digging its grave in my back, I allowed my body to relax for a split second. Eying the robin egg blue walls of the room, I recalled the paint job Cam had roped me into [Jonas hadn't been so much _roped _as he was_ lassoed_ and _hogtied_ by Lucy]. It had been nearly a month since then and nearly four since the mission had started. I knew for a fact neither Jonas nor Kim nor Arnold was used to an assignment prolonged to this extent.

Flipping through my mental cabinet and its various pocket folders, the list of citizens slaughtered, I felt a sudden rush of something engulf me from inside out.

_Helplessness. _

The mission had been initiated for four months now, and there seemed to be no pattern to these senseless killings. The massacre was uncalculated, each victim—each _lost one_—having nothing in common with the other. Some homicidal maniac was hacking his—her—_its _way through Harvard alumni, and the telltale option of contacting the Director that this mission was a dead-end whispered alluringly in my mind, the spidery fingers of just calling the Director dragging my heart around in my ribcage.

It was true—the deaths led a map-less trail, the departed having no relation that would spawn a hit list of this altitude.

"Zach?"

I snapped forward into a sitting position. My head whirled sharply to my right. Cammie had returned to her spot at the edge of the bed, glasses down, gem green eyes now bare with concern. Worry weighed her face down, tinted with curiosity and the way she stared at me felt like her irises were trying to find a way to open my ribcage up like Pandora's Box.

"Are you okay?"

The worried image Cammie presented warped into a different projection of her. Cammie, a girl I had barely met, the one I thought stupid of for dragging a complete stranger to her apartment to nurse him back to health. The murders in Oxen Hill back then—and a broken look in her eyes filled my line of vision.

It then jumped to a little girl with her father's grey eyes—Andy, was it? Maxwell Edwards' kid. _"What I want is this murderer taken out."_

Edwards' words resurfaced from the abyss of my mind to the forefront. The words dumping ice cold water down my spine, metaphorically sopping my head with realization.

"_Spies aren't hired, Zach. They're used."_Resounded in my ears—before another sentence rang, resonating like a church bell, true and unmistakable.

_"Then tell me, Zach, did you join the CIA to solely serve your country?"_

No. I didn't.

It could have been some heroic part of my subconscious that influenced me, but it wasn't the dividend that made me want this life—this mission. My mind pulled me back to that day, where the backs of two parents I barely got to know drove away from me and the faint glimmer of a grin of a previous caretaker lit up in my head.

_What the fuck was I thinking?  
_

"_Zach!" _

Train of thought thoroughly smashing into a mental wall, I snapped my attention to an obviously worried Cammie, who transferred from her seat on her bed to kneel in front of me. Concern made her stance apprehensive and from the way she was sitting, my guess was that she looked ready to bolt to the nearest phone for 911.

"Yeah?" I replied simply.

She relaxed a bit, leaning backwards; her eyes still regarded me a tad warily. "Are you okay?"

Shooing off her question like one would a fly; I stood before traveling across the room, grabbing my backpack for my water bottle. Feeling a concerned gaze prodding me in the back, worry hung in the air like a heavy curtain, practically tangible and real.

I turned a bit at the waist, a leering smirk quirking at the corner, hoping to ease the tension: "See something you like?"

I expected a blush, or a bit of that adorable sputtering I had grown fond of. I was startled by the luminous, relieved beam Cammie flashed me, the worry being wiped away like a shadow was from a burning light.

Without another word, the both of us had grabbed our respective textbooks and actually started some homework, like good little students.

Although I did have a rather pyromaniac-like urge to set my notebook on fire.

But I didn't so, like I said: good little students.

Renewed resolve steeled itself inside me. I'd have to contact Jonas soon [and if he so much tries to ignore me again, I'd roundhouse kick his face. As long as his face is bruised and not his brain, it should be fine]—my excitement practically vibrating inside me—

"Zach?" Hearing my name, I glanced up from the formulas littering my page, and the plans in my head. Cammie hadn't lifted her attention from her book; her bangs shaded her eyes so all I saw were the very tips of her lashes. The way her fingers picked at her bedspread had fanned the flames of my curiosity—_she was nervous?_

"Uh, to answer your question from earlier—yeah, yeah I do."

She lifted her head, green eyes connecting with my own, and I saw the pink dusting her cheeks and a shy—and dare I say affectionate?—smile.

A beat.

Cue astonished silence.

As if just realizing what she had said, Cammie put her head back down briskly, tips of her ears adopting a rosy hue.

Another beat.

The silence seemed as fragile as glass, and there I was, smirk and all, ready to bash it open with a sledgehammer.

"So, are you saying I have permission to sweep you off your feet, Miss Morgan?" I asked grandly. A grin pulled at the corners of my mouth—widening to greater lengths at the quiet _"if you'd like," _that passed her lips.

Once again, _another_ beat.

Nerves at their peak, Cammie directed the conversation elsewhere, reading off random tidbits of information that spilled from her well of knowledge known as her textbook [_"Did you know, that the human brain can't conjure up a face of its own, so all the people in your dreams are actually people you've before in real life? Kind of neat—"_]

Her rambling?

Wasn't going to lie—it was pretty freaking adorable.

And educational—but it was _endearing, _so the information slid off my skin like a water off a duck.

I wondered vaguely if I looked like the Cheshire Cat at that point, I was grinning so much.

["..._and there's actually so such thing as multi-tasking either, research showed—"_]

Keeping a mental tab on my renewed vigor towards the mission, I couldn't help the near predatory grin that stretched my lips.

7:52 p.m. and 16 seconds—on Saturday, October 14th.

Also known as the exact time and date my official plans of wooing one Cameron Morgan commenced.

* * *

_**(Author's Note)**_: I know, I know—you're probably thinking "ABOUT TIME" (whether this is towards Zach's "official plans" for Cammie or my update skills, is up to you), but I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I really need to stock up on romance novels—the Zammie of the story just may depend on it.

I've made it a goal to put out a chapter every week or so, if I can't make it to a week, I'll attempt to post a preview so you guys don't have to worry about me not continuing the story. Blame lack of motivation or AP assignments (homework during the summer... _of course._)

_So—any particular thoughts on the chapter?_ I'm hoping my motivation for the story won't slow down on me. Hopefully the Zammie will help me out in that department, but feedback would be lovely!

**Thanks again to those of you who reviewed, not going to lie—I was about ready to stop writing altogether, so it's not an exaggeration when I say that you guys, the reviewers, had saved this story from the trash bin, and for that: I'm supremely grateful! THANK YOU SO MUCH.**

With warm regards,

Diva

P.S. Fanfiction absolutely kills my formatting, so I apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors. ALSO: Is anyone on here interested in being a beta reader for this story? If so, please say so in a review.


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